Surrounded by a deafening hum and the clanking of mechanical gears inside the main cabin, the party tried its damnedest to avoid coming to blows. With some effort Gunther had managed to fold himself into enough of a pretzel so that he could steer, and Fedor half crouched operated the turret. Which left Sorina, Nikola, and Chiara crammed haplessly together in the back of the metal beast. Each bounce of the tank sent them into the air. Each dip of the chassis sent them hurtling toward the front. No, crew ergonomics were not a chief priority for the Empire.
"Chiara! If you do not get off me!" Nikola shouted over the whine of the engine as she fought to push her compatriots off. The vein on her forehead was ready to pop.
"You'll what!?" Chiara yelled back, driving her elbow into Nikola's head. Sorina was able to dodge a flurry of punches by pressing herself against the side of the cabin, although the spectacle was enough for her to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
"Hey, Trofim. How do I rotate this thing's turret? I can't even see where we are going," Fedor asked, ignoring the yowling from behind him.
"There should be a crank. This thing is a relic from the first war," Gunther informed him, wearing the stupidest grin on his face. He had struggled with the gears at first but soon caught on to how the machine worked. He was not planning on telling the others that the controls had been streamlined a lot since the first war. Gunther was catching on, though, luckily after a minor hiccup and a concerning grinding sound on first acceleration, they were well on their way across the frozen land.
Gunther brought their chariot to a screeching halt near the coordinates where Otto had showed the Republican encampment was located. Nikola and Chiara found themselves sprawled onto the floor, while Sorina narrowly saved herself from such a fate by bracing her legs against the other side. Fedor smacked his head into the turret rung, letting loose a string of less than holy swears.
Unscathed, Gunther announced proudly, "Thanks for traveling with Trofim's taxi service." With that, he pulled the lever, and the back of the tank dropped into the snow with a thud. Careful to step over the writhing pile of his commanders, he made his way outside.
The brisk air was refreshing, and he took an obnoxious, deep breath to emphasize his pleasure. Groaning, Chiara crawled after him. "Gonna kill him. I swear to you," she said to no one specific.
Using Chiara's back, Nikola stood up first and hopped to the ground. She shielded her eyes, surveying their surroundings. Visibility was worsening, with thick flakes of snow falling from the overcast sky. Fedor stayed inside while Sorina climbed on top of the tank. She took out a monosight, surveying the base that was just ahead of them.
She mechanically relayed what she could see: two sets of guards patrolling the perimeter of the camp, a stone structure in the center surrounded by several tents, searchlights being used to light up the area, a fence of wood and barbwire wrapped around the entire encampment. She could also see machine gun emplacements on several of the guard towers. Sorina finished relaying the information and jumped down. "I can set up here and have a good view of the area," she said. "Remember, I only have thirty bullets, so try to be quick."
"We will," Nikola said confidently. "My guess is that they are holding the target in that middle building there." If she was wrong, they could all end up dead, but then again, strategy was never her strong suit.
"So that is the plan, then? Dive this poorly armored hunk a junk into the center of camp and hope the guy is there?" Gunther asked, trying to come off cool and collected, but it was obvious he was sweating the decision.
Chiara kicked the side of the tank and crossed her arms. "Yeah—simple, easy. We just need to kill them all." An easy declaration to make when one lacked a fear of healthy death.
"Priority one is evacuating Captain Ulf safely," Nikola said while loading a bolt into her Dunkel. "Anything else is…" She licked her lips. "Purely for pleasure."
Gunther adjusted the many cases that weighed down his body. He counted them, then rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll try to keep track of ammunition. Try to go easy, though." He was not' too keen about the idea of being caught in a live fire zone with no ammo.
Coming with a plan on the fly, Nikola said, "Chiara. You and Gunther keep the enemy busy," she jerked her head at Fedor; "we will find Ulf." She wanted to gauge if the zealot lived up to his fanaticism.
Chiara dragged her thumb across in front her throat. "You hear that engineer? Let's bleed em dry."
Sorina positioned herself on an inclined piece of ice. She had already lined up a shot on an important-looking soldier in the center of the camp. As long as he stayed in her view range, she could hit him. Nikola pointed towards the side of the base from where they'd approach, and the rest of the squad clambered back into their reliable steed. The hatch slammed shut, and the tank sped off.
Roaring by the time an alarm was sounded, it was already smashing through the barbwire defenses. Gunther shifted gears, pushing an already worn engine even harder as he aimed for the stone structure. Fedor fired off a single shell. An explosion followed that sent a single Republican scout hurtling air with a scream.
Once stopped, Nikola shouted, "Go!" A well-placed shot from Sorina gave them an opening to make some room, as her first well-placed shot pierced through the helmets of two startled soldiers with a distinctive metallic ping.
With a terrifying shriek, Chiara threw herself into the fray. Her first bolt found its target in the center of a scout. The tip of which split his sternum through his metal carapace, like a piece of wood, killing him instantly. Another Republican opened fire, but her serrated bayonet made quick work of his innards, and as she jerked it free, bits of intestine spilled onto the ground.
Gunther could tell he was going to have his work cut out for himself, and held position near the tank. He tossed down two heavy packs, a bullet ricocheted near his feet and he ducked back. The Republicans were quick to rally, forming ranks as they moved to surround these bold intruders.
There was just one problem. Chiara was like an obnoxious gnat: small, loud, and above all, deceptively hard to kill. She bolted around the encampment with a manic glee, leaving a trail of slaughter in her wake. She cleaved a path down one line of tents. Another bolt felled a shocktrooper, cackling she rolled over an armored tech who scarcely raised his shield before her knife slit his throat and using his body as a human shield, Chiara survived a volley of gunfire.
A fencer advanced on her sword, raised high, but just as she spun to face him, a bolt went cleanly through his skull. Wide-eyed a gurgle left his lips, and he collapsed. This enraged Chiara, who screamed, "Hey! That is cheating! She glowered at Nikola, who gave a sarcastic wave.
Her momentary distraction forced Gunther to shoot off two more rounds. One found its mark in the shoulder of a Republican. "Oi, boss! You better focus!"
"Shut up!" Chiara yelled at him, returning to the fight. Nikola giggled softly, took one last look at the battlefield, then turned her attention to the door behind her. With the help of Fedor, she kicked it repeatedly until the lock gave way. They rushed into the room, guns, or, in this case, crossbow blazing.
The difficulties of leading a frontal assault against an enemy encampment were becoming readily apparent. Numerical superiority meant the Republicans could afford to apply pressure from all angles. Chiara did not even seem to notice the encirclement forming around them, as she raced back and forth. Gunther, however, could feel the heat as he reloaded his Zeichmeister (ZM), Karbiner 3B, literally as well, since personal modifications to the karbine had damaged its ability to disperse heat. Worried about finding himself without a weapon, he opted to switch to his sidearm, a custom variant from his time as an assault pioneer of the standard Commissar sidearm.
But in this case Gunther had added a foldable wire stock, and changed the firing mechanism to be fully automatic. Sure, it could not hit the broad side of a barn unless it was at point blank range, but for tank crews and assault squads, it was a devastating and portable weapon.
He did his best to maintain suppressing fire, but Chiara never lingered in one place long enough for him to be much help. As the fighting continued, it was becoming increasingly apparent she was nearing her physical limit. Sloppy mistakes, missed bolts, and slowed reactions to advancing soldiers were putting her at risk of being overwhelmed.
Concerned, Gunther poked his head out from behind cover. "Boss! You need to fall back!" He had to admire her ferocity, especially how a small girl like Chiara filled grown men with a deep terror as she tore their comrades to shreds, but enough was enough.
"Are you nuts!?" she yelled at him as she gracefully danced around the side of a Republican engineer and jammed her knife into his side before jerking the blade upward. A spew of red blood rained upon her as she cackled hysterically.
Gunther cut down two approaching scouts on his right, reloaded, swore colorfully upon realizing his commander had no intentions to withdraw and sprinted out toward her. "Whoa!" Several bullets whizzed by; a reminder of why he was glad to have put in the extra hours raising his evasion. By sleeping through training regimes and dodging his squad leader. He grabbed hold of Chiara, who spun to face him, ready to kill. "Let's try drawing them together. I got a little something," he said, a rush of adrenaline fueling his confidence.
"Screw that! Leave them to me!" Chiara responded with crazed eyes. Another bolt left her Dunkel, careened through the air, before hitting a soldier in his shoulder. Gleeful she switched to the special bolt Gunther had given her, and flipped the switch on its side. A gentle buzz emanated as a current of electricity passed through its frame.
Gunther fumbled for a grenade, while Chiara took aim at another armored tech, who was providing a barrier for a squad behind him. "Eheh," she snickered. With a quick move, she dropped to her stomach, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The bolt shot forth just above the ground, embedding itself in the unfortunate man's shin. Electricity coursed through his whole body, causing him to convulse as blisters formed all over his face.
A pop followed and blood poured from the armored tech's eyes as he fell. Chiara stood, awestruck. "That was amazing!"
"Perfect! Now get down!" Gunther shouted as she shoved her aside. He threw a grenade at the remaining three men. An explosion sent them backward in a mass of body parts. Chiara was impressed but kept that to herself, since she running low on ammunition.
"You, Engineer! Do your job!" she yelled with frustration. Gunther nodded and retreated in a hail of gunfire to the tank. He slid behind it, wheezing. Smoking several packs of cigarettes a day was taking its toll alright. Chiara rushed to join him, but in her haste, did not see a scout aiming at her. It was too late for her to react. He shot, and the bullet tore through Chiara's upper thigh. She yelped, startled by the pain, as her vision blurred, although it did not stop her. She hobbled to safety, before collapsing next to Gunther.
Who concerned said, "Ah, shit." He knelt, pulling out his vial of ragnaid."
"Goddamn it! That hurt, you bastards!" Chiara screeched, keeping her hand over the bloody hole in her thigh. Her eyes darted to the glowing blue vial. "Get that away from me!" She shoved him backward.
"Boss, you're wounded—this will help," Gunther said, bewildered by her reaction. He knew soldiers who would refuse help because they thought they were tough, however, this was a desperate situation.
"I never asked for your help!" she screeched. Belgar had instilled a fear in her of taking anything that was not one of his special curatives for pain. "I just need to take my medicine!"
Gunther, out of patience, punched the metal near Chiara's head, causing her to flinch. "Stupid! This is medicine!" He brought the vial down near her leg and twisted the mechanism at the bottom, releasing a blue light. Chiara felt herself relax as the pain faded to a dull throb.
Enraged further, she grabbed Gunther's jacket. "Tell anyone and you are dead," she growled, but for a moment the engineer could see the confused terror which was hidden behind her twitching eyes.
He was about to reassure her when Chiara leaped to her feet with renewed fervor. She grabbed a handful of bolts from the pack on the ground. "Round two!" she hollered, already sprinting off. He groaned, reloaded, and rolled into a prone position. The least he could as an engineer was make sure she stayed alive.
On the inside, Nikola and Fedor were confronted by a handful of guards who, having heard the siren, had already taken defensive positions. Using three grenades thrown in succession, Fedor cleared the entrance, allowing Nikola to use the explosion and smoke to get behind a pillar. She was no less restrained than her partner, and seeing an opportunity, fired a poisoned bolt from the hip as she charged forward.
Its tip nicked one of the guards on the cheek, and left him foaming at the mouth, paralysis setting in as his throat closed up. Fedor joined her soon enough. His unorthodox preference for close quarters combat made apparent when instead of using his machine pistol, he unsheathed a long bayonet.
Equally reckless as Nikola, Fedor tackled his target to the ground and, while muttering prayers for the dead, mutilated the unfortunate Nord beyond recognition.
Their shared ability made it easy to cleave through all but two of the remaining opponents. As she pushed a dead man from her bayonet, using her boot, Nikola barked, "Leave that one!"
"It is done," Fedor said. His knee connected with the stomach of the last survivor, and Fedor slammed the soldier's skull against the wall.
Silence punctuated by the firefight going on outside the building descended. Nikola came over wearing a frightful grin. "We need to ask to some questions."
"In your dreams, imp," the republican said.
Nikola ignored him. She looked at the iron doors that lined the wall to her right. Each evenly spaced, there was no doubt these were holding cells. "Which one holds Captain Ulf?" she asked, placing a finger on her chin.
He spat. That was the wrong answer. Fedor raised his blade, pressing it against their prisoner's throat. "Your death can be as quick as you like. The Valkyrur care not who I send to them."
"Very true, Servaas," Nikola agreed. She raised another poison bolt, but this time snapped off the vial at the tip. A purple liquid was visible inside; she held it up. "See this? Your friend over there didn't like his taste all too much." Nikola giggled. "And that was just an itty bitty scratch. Would you like to try drinking it?"
Of course, she already knew the answer, but he didn't. The Republican gulped; he looked to his dead comrade, whose bloodshot eyes bulged outward. A quick death would be merciful by comparison, but he held his tongue. Nikola frowned. "Tch."
"Allow me to, Agent Graf," Fedor said. She nodded, curious if his methods would be more fun than hers. He dug his bayonet into the skin of their prisoner; a small amount of blood dribbled onto the sharpened edge. "Son, the Valkyrur welcome warriors to their side. I can make sure you live to fight another day, but only if you unlock those cells."
Nikola huffed. "Bor~ring!" Diplomacy was such a dull choice. To her immense disappointment, the Republican complied.
But as he revealed a ring of keys, Fedor stabbed him through the back, grunting as the tip of the bayonet protruded from his victim's stomach. He then whispered, "Do not fret, my son. Not all warriors die legends."
He released the man. Nikola watched, puzzled, as Fedor wiped the blade on his sleeve. "Uh, I suppose that is one way to do it," she said.
"We just needed the key, Agent Graf. Time is of the essence, is it not?" Fedor explained, as if it were obvious. He moved to unlock the doors, while Nikola went back to check on the state of the fighting outside. From the doorway, she could see that Chiara and Gunther had been pushed back to the tank; Nikola raised her Dunkel, aimed at an approaching shocktrooper, and squeezed the trigger.
Her bolt struck him in the left eye. She cracked a smile. "Eheh."
Fedor threw open the fourth and final cell door. Inside, he was greeted by the visage of Casper Ulf, who was seated cross-legged in the center of the room. A man of immense size, the de facto leader of the Loyalists, was a presence all to himself. He had long, light brown hair and a braided beard that reached the center of his chest. Ulf's face was covered in many deep scars, that were drawn attention to by the black eyepatch that covered his left eye. "Shame," he said as his good eye opened. "I thought my brothers were finally going to finish the job."
Nikola came over to get a look at the captain herself. Upon standing, she found she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. "We came to rescue you."
"You little one?" Ulf mused, as he ran a hand through his beard. He shrugged. "I've had stranger rescuers. One moment, please." Patiently, he walked over to a door across from his cell. Using immense strength, he tore it clean off its hinges. Fedor and Nikola were taken aback by this display of raw power. They were even more shocked when Ulf entered, and the clattering of metal was heard.
"Ahem, we're kind of on a schedule here," Nikola said with a veneer of professionalism. More clanging was heard, so she raised her voice. "Hello! We need to—"
Ulf reemerged, carrying a massive two-handed battle axe. Its edge was fashioned into the shape of a thick crescent, engraved with trails of ragnite that formed a pattern leading back to its heel. Nikola dropped her objections. "Ceremonial," Ulf said, as he leaned over to grab a rifle from the floor. "Bjorn is an old friend. It would be in poor taste to leave him behind."
His love of the weapon resonated with Nikola felt like she liked him already. Fedor's radio came to life, and he pressed on the receiver. Sorina was on the other end of the line. "Enemy reinforcements on route, I suggest withdrawal."
When Nikola, Ulf and Fedor rejoined Gunther and Chiara, the lattermost yelled. "Took you long enough!" During the chaos, as Republicans closed in around them, Chiara was forced to accept charging around like a madwoman was no longer viable. Especially when the wound in her thigh severely hindered her mobility. To supplement their defense around the tank, Chiara was standing behind a prone Gunther. When he needed to reload, she would fire off as many bolts as she could in rapid succession.
She hated to admit it, but the rotation was the only thing keeping their enemies from overwhelming them. There was value to be found in unified squad tactics. "Another one?" Ulf muttered under his breath as he ducked behind the tank.
"Get it started, Trofim!" Nikola ordered, rushing to her partner's side.
Gunther gave a thumbs up, jumped to his feet, and climbed inside the tank. He attempted to start the engine, but as if they were trapped within a cliche, it did not budge. "Shit," he mumbled, stumbling back outside. Sure enough, the ragnite box at the rear was sparking, with a trail of smoke rising into the sky. "Bad news! The radiator is hit!" Gunther grabbed his repair tool, shouting, "Keep them off me!"
Nikola exchanged a glance with Chiara, who nodded. They both cracked chilling grins. "No sweat," they said together. The pair sprinted into the open, drawing the fire off their subordinate. Ulf took a position close to the kneeling Gunther. He shot off two rounds, the first hit a shocktrooper in the upper shoulder, but the second found its mark in the unfortunate man's stomach.
Fedor, meanwhile, stood between his commanders and the engineer. Trancelike, he did not fear for his own safety. Firing from the hip, with incredible recoil control, he laid down an impressive volume of fire. "And so the Valkyrur stood before…" He was drowned out by an explosion to his right, which did little to sway him. "In the throes of calamity, they…" A second grenade landed at his feet. Fedor grabbed it and hurled it back toward the enemy. "I condemn you to the Valkyrur!"
Nikola and Chiara by no attention to his mad ravings. They worked together to protect each other's blind spots as bullets flew all around them. Chiara was slowed by her injury, but in a show of good sportsmanship, Nikola tempered her speed to accommodate her injured comrade. "Left," she said, switching to an explosive bolt. It struck the ground in front of a scout, blasting both his legs off in different directions. A rain of blood followed.
"Right!" Chiara yelled, and Nikola ducked, a Republican Fencer's sword barely passing above the tip of her nose. She recovered, then lunged forward, her bayonet piercing his chest plate.
She giggled sweetly as Chiara finished the job by shooting him in the face point blank. "Aww, did that hurt!?"
"Behind!" Nikola switched with her, just in the nick of time. Ulf saved their skin, having seen the sniper before either of them. His bullets found their mark, and the Republican never had a chance.
"How is it coming, boy!?" Ulf bellowed at Gunther. As a veteran of earlier campaigns, Ulf was marveled at the surrounding spectacle, but was also starting feel as though he was too old to keep pace any more.
Gunther grumbled something as he fumbled with a wire. Suddenly, the engine sparked and sputtered back to life. "Hah! Now that is a good sign!" he said to no one in particular. Crouching, he crawled back into the cabin of their tank. More banging, cursing, and clouds of smoke followed before Gunther poked his head out again. "Got it! Let's go!"
"That is what I like to hear!" Ulf bellowed. He climbed inside.
Nikola pouted. "I was just starting to have fun." She ran a hand across her chest. "We will have to play later."
"Next time, we won't go so easy on you losers!" Chiara shouted, offering her middle finger, as the two withdrew.
Fedor lingered until everyone else was on board. Even then, he hesitated, eyes wild with bloodlust as he stood unafraid of meeting his end. From inside Nikola yelled, "Last chance! Either get on or we leave you, Servaas!"
He grunted, annoyed. "Very well." Once the hatch was shut behind him, Gunther shifted the gears and lit a fresh cigarette. "Hold on." A muffled grunt caused him to look back. Holding on was an unnecessary suggestion since, with the addition of Ulf, the rest of the squad was reduced to sardines in a can. There was scarcely enough room to breathe.
Kicking up dust behind them, the tank crashed back over the flattened barbwire and sped away from the camp. Bullets pinged ineffectually off its rear armor, lessening until they were far enough to be out of range of small arms. Sorina took one look at the cramped interior, refused to subject herself to such humiliation, and opted to hang onto the side instead.
True to Otto's word, the Loyalists moved to act as the rear guard, covering Kriegstotcher's retreat. Captain Ulf was met by cheers from his loyal soldiers, who embraced their captain with enthusiasm. Nikola and Chiara waited long enough to receive assurances that offensive operations would begin the moment the first equipment shipments arrived from the Imperial heartland. Payment would be provided via a lend-lease arrangement in which Nordic gold would be seized from Lowerholm upon its reclamation and transferred directly to the Commissariat's coffers. Resource extraction was standard operational policy for the shady organization, who funded many of its activities through black markets to avoid the Emperor's questioning eye.
Nikola and Chiara's first mission as squad leaders was a resounding success. All their objectives had been accomplished, on top of the rescue of a high profile Imperial war hero. So spirits were high as they trekked back toward where they had originally crossed the border. As predicted, the weather had continued to decline, but the return of snow did not hamper their spirits.
Happy to be alive, Gunther piped up. "Alright! Body count, let's hear it." He was salivating at the thought of eating Grade A officers' rations.
Trailing a few feet behind him, Chiara's face was contorted into a grimace, as the embarrassment of having her arm slung over Nikola's shoulder caused Chiara to be filled with an inconsolable rage. She was grinding her teeth to nubs just to stay upright; each step taken sent a wave of blooming pain throughout her leg.
Nikola could feel the rage radiating from her passionate partner, but was relieved that the bullet wound was nothing serious. Well, almost nothing serious, since without their medicine Nikola could only guess at the intensity of the pain. As she herself was being engulfed by a fatigue never experienced before, a product of not having access to Belgar's medicine.
"I lost count," Fedor said, having been humming a church hymn to himself. Despite trying to place himself directly in the path of harm, he was annoyed to find yet again he had escaped the fighting unscathed. The reality of which left him with a gnawing hollowness that his comrades would never understand.
Gunther frowned, disappointed, but shrugged. "Ah, well, I got six.
"Snrk, is that all?" Nikola smirked.
"That's nothing." Chiara added, trying to take her mind off her throbbing thigh.
"Oh, I suppose you both did better?' Gunther asked, turning to face them with a supportive grin. While he cared about winning the bet, he was glad to be bested by a superior soldier. If only because it meant he was not responsible for killing as many of his countrymen. A discomforting notion that continued to lurk in the recesses of his mind.
He walked backward, and Nikola stared at him blankly. "Four or five inside, maybe eleven outside." She counted off on her fingers, certain she may have missed a few.
"Ack!" Chiara interrupted when she brought her foot down wrong.
"My bad," Nikola said, trying to avoid being abrasive. She adjusted her stance to help take the pressure of Chiara and lowered her voice. "You were too reckless…"
While not her intention, Nikola regretted her statement as soon as it became apparent Chiara interpreted it as condescension. Promptly, she shoved her off. "Don't you dare pity me. I dealt with the enemy."
Nikola receded at the hostility, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. She fixed her collar. "I—"
"Twenty-three!" Chiara interrupted. She pumped her fist. "I told you! That you never had a chance!"
Gunther whistled. Having witnessed her inhuman abilities firsthand, he did not doubt her for a second. "Impressive, boss."
Chiara could not stop herself from grinning. Any kind of praise was enough to placate her pride. "Heh, it was easy."
The only one left was Sorina, who with unhooked her small canvas pouch from her belt. She shot it dramatically. "Thirty-four." A mathematical impossibility unless she killed two separate pairs of enemies with a single shot. Which she, of course, did.
Chiara made an attempt at doing the math in her head. "So, that means we won, right?" She could tell the party was slowing its pace so she could keep up, only motivating her to push herself harder.
Hardly a gracious loser, Gunther raised a finger. "Not so fast, boss!" Both Nikola and Chiara narrowed their eyes at him. Gunther pointed to Fedor. "Without Servaas's count, we cannot know for certain. Therefore, the bet is void."
Nikola's eye twitched. "You cowardly little worm."
Gunther touched his cap's brim. "Guilty."
Nikola scowled but dropped it when Chiara stumbled. Nikola tried to offer her arm, but her partner growled. "I don't want your help."
"Fine, then, you stubborn idiot," Nikola responded harshly. She pushed forward to the front of the party, a hurt expression briefly visible on her face. Gunther opted to stay behind to keep Chiara company, just in case her condition worsened any. Soon they had made it back to the safety of Imperial territory. Karl was eagerly awaiting their report, but waved Chiara to the infirmary. A debrief would need to come could later.