Vasel - April 28, 1836
Private Fritz Klein marched along in the long column that was the leading element of the Imperial XXVII Corps. The young man whistled happily to himself as he walked, thinking of his mother and sister back home in the Empire. He had been drafted into His Majesty's service just a few months ago. There had been that fight a few days back, but the Corps remained mostly intact, ready for anything. Fritz turned to his friend who was marching next to him. "Hey, how long before we rest?"
His friend shrugged. "We're getting into Vasel, so I'd say the III Corps will pass us up for the assault as soon as we get to a place where we can get off the road."
Sure enough, after only a few more minutes, the column swung off the road onto a nearby farm. The men broke ranks to refill their canteens at a small well and do a quick spot of foraging before they would have to get back on the march. Fritz filled his canteen and then walked along a small side path, idly watching the III Corps march past. Almost involuntarily, his thoughts turned back to his home in the small town near the Empire's southern border. Was his mother getting along without him? Would his sister be enough to help her? Klein hoped that he would be promoted soon; a larger paycheck meant more help he could send back home.
His foot struck a small bump in the road. "Huh?" He looked down and saw a small Gallian-made pistol. Fritz grinned. This was his lucky day. He could show it off when he got back home. As he picked it up, its progress was arrested by a short piece of thread. His eyebrows lifted in confusion. Klein gave the piece a sharp tug to break the thread.
Edel and Wolffe whirled as a dull boom went off to the east. A couple of men flinched.
"Mmn. Well, that was sooner than I had expected." Cheslock said.
"So you were right," Edel said pensively. "A pistol's good bait."
The corporal nodded grimly. "Yup. Still be better to have the owner around, I'd think."
William Calvey ran up and saluted. Since the last battle, a few of the militia had joined up with the 147th under Tillock's watchful eye. "Sergeant Tillock reports that the skirmishers are engaging the Imperial column, but are falling back."
Edel nodded. He wouldn't have expected anything else. "Thank you Private." Edel turned back to Landzaat. "I'd suggest we begin our retreat as well sir."
"Very well, but let's bog down their advance a bit while we can." Landzaat wheeled his mount around and gestured to the men. "Alright, boys! Let's start moving."
The Imperials entered an empty Vasel, their steps confident. As they advanced through the streets, the occasional crack of a rifle from an entrenched survivor soon became the rattle of a man in every window and behind every wall. The easy advance quickly turned into a crawl, but the invaders came on. Cheslock fired from his window, the grenade's blue blast of flaming ragnite flinging bodies aside. It had been the same pattern for the past ten minutes. Shoot, watch the troops take cover momentarily, and then observe them attempting to advance the way their comrades had tried.
The grenadier poured ragnite into his launcher, peering across the street. "Sergeant Tillock! You got everyone yet?"
"No!"
"Well, damn. This is getting pretty boring!" On that statement, a 'lucky' round blew chips out of the window frame, throwing splinters into Cheslock's face. "Ham, we're changing position." The Corporal crept from the window and bolted down the stairs, nearing the door just as a gigantic Imperial dove headfirst through a nearby window. The soldier rapidly scrambled to his feet. Cheslock took a step back. "What the-" The Imp lunged at him with bayonet fixed.
Cheslock's launcher slipped from his hands as the big Imperial tackled him into a wall, knocking the wind out of his lungs. As the man drew back his rifle, Cheslock spat in his face and rolled away, narrowly avoiding the sharp blade. The corporal fumbled with his leather holster, drawing his pistol just as the other man recovered. The revolver cracked deafeningly as the bullet went wide and thudded into the far wall. The now very angry infantryman dropped his rifle and bodily threw Cheslock across the room. "Of all the big, stupi-" His words were abruptly cut off as the Imperial wrapped his fingers around the Corporal's throat, slamming him to the floor.
Cheslock's vision started to swim, but he could see the Imperial removing one massive palm to reach for the knife on his waist. His attacker's expression changed abruptly from triumphant to dumbfounded as his hand found empty air where the hilt had been. The knife itself floated over their heads - in Ham's mouth. Cheslock weakly motioned for the blade, and the Porcavian deposited it neatly in his outstretched hand. With a bloody grin, he thrust the blade into the Imperial's unprotected throat, kicking away the huge man as his opponent went limp. As he rose to his feet, he turned and nodded to Ham. "Guess you're not quite useless. Thanks, buddy."
"Moink!"
Cheslock dusted off his grenade launcher and slid out the door, hugging the wall as he crept into the next building. It was clear now that boring was a very good thing.
Edel Wagner was considerably annoyed. After having spent hours fighting house to house to give Vasel's citizens time to escape, he had found one that refused to be evacuated.
"Sir, you must leave. The Imperials will be here any minute, and they will treat you as an enemy."
The old man he was pleading with drew back further into the doorway. "What do you young people know? I built this house with my wife, and now I'll die in it. Just leave me alone now, young man."
Wolffe sighed in exasperation. "Our orders are to take everyone." He gestured at the line of refugees waiting to cross the Vasel Bridge to safety. "We can't leave you here by yourself sir."
Tillock followed the man into the house as he retreated. "Come along, sir." The sergeant gently pushed the protesting senior toward the doorway.
Edel jumped as an Imperial shell howled towards them and crashed into the house.
Tillock looked up in horror as the structure groaned, then began to fall inwards. "Look out sir!" The burly sergeant bodily shoved the old man clear of the doorway as the roof collapsed in on him. The structure folded inwards in a cloud of dust, leaving Edel and Wolffe staring in shock at the rubble.
Wolffe cursed and dropped to his knees as he began to dig frantically. "Hang on, James! We'll get you out!"
"Leave him." Edel's flat order interrupted the sergeant's mad scramble.
"Bullshit!" Wolffe stared, incredulous at the command.
The staff sergeant sighed and turned back to stare at the old man standing meekly in the road. "We don't have the time to get him out, even if he is alive. The Imperials will be here any minute." He waved, taking in the group of civilians huddled in the street. "Or do you suggest we sacrifice all these people to save one?"
The sharpshooter paced, torn between digging the wreckage for his friend and the cold necessity of retreat. "I'm not suggesting anything! We just gotta . . . Damn!"
"Gotta move." Edel grabbed Wolffe by the collar and pushed him toward the small band of refugees. "We're taking them to the bridge. March."
"Yeah, they're set." Cheslock handed the field glasses to Edel. "The engineers have covered all the load bearing points, and the blast should tear up a few of 'em as they cross over. We just gotta wait now."
In mere minutes, the leading elements of the III Corps had cleared the last of the houses and were sprinting towards the bridge. As Edel watched, the Gallian engineers lit the fuses and hastily scrambled away.
The Imperials reached the bridge and began to cross.
"Come on!" Wolffe said. "Hurry it up!"
Halfway over. "Is that fuse even live?" Cheslock asked, retrieving the glasses from Edel.
Fifty feet. Then twenty. The first charge seemed insufficient to destroy such a large bridge as it went off with a quiet thump.
"Eh?" Lieutenant Landzaat stared over at the bridge. "Isn't it-"
The main charge went off with a roar, blasting a gaping hole in the bridge's columns and shattering every window that overlooked the riverbank. The bridge creaked and then slowly toppled over into the water, dashing the Imperials on it into the Vasel.
Cheslock lit a cigar. "I don't like it, but it ain't a total defeat."
Wolffe sat down heavily on the riverbank. "We lost Tillock though." He laughed. "Funny. I always figured that if anyone survived the war, it would've been him." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a match, puffing it before taking a deep drag.
Edel stomped over and snatched the cigarette from his mouth. "These things are nasty as hell," he said, viciously executing it under his boot heel. "If you want to feel bad, you can do it without one."
"But-" Wolffe stopped in mid protest. "I see." After this sort of battle, a smoke didn't really help. The men stared in silence at the city burning across the river.
Author's Note: A most sincere apology to all the people that actually keep up with this fiction. This story has been on a short hiatus due to one of the authors being unavailable to write. However, that has now changed, and updates will be posted more regularly from now on.