Vesper Noir struggles as he raises up a Starfall Banner, the green, sovereign flag of the Commonwealth of Elysium now somewhat crimson red, that had fallen onto the floor of the wartorn ballroom - one of the many that litter the desolate, death-ridden place. He holds the flag with both hands and, with a swift, decisive tug–
RIIIIIIIP~!
He tears the Starfall Banner into sizable green strips of fabric, the cleanest portions he can find, as evenly as he could. Then, he takes them and begins bandaging Altare's torso with them. Altare grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe deeply, feeling the sting from the wound left by Anya's keris . When Vesper finishes the bindings, the pain subsides.
"This will have to do for now." Vesper notes, setting aside the rest of the torn flag strips.
"Thanks... Ves..." Altare grunts. He pulls down his well-worn drab green shirt over the makeshift bandage wraps and lets his adjutant help him back up to his feet.
Together, from an undisturbed corner of the ballroom, they survey the aftermath of the bloodbath - all while Elysian and Pavolian machine guns continue to doggedly sling lead at one another outside.
They see the body of Brigadier General Leslie Olivier still wrapped in a bloodied Starfall banner. Vesper adjusts his glasses and comments bitterly.
"...If I may, I say she got what she deserved for putting on a show for ECN film reels instead of doing her damn job... Now, she's just a statistic." The silver-haired man frowns and shakes his head. "But the rest of the brigade shouldn't have to suffer because of her hubris."
"True. There's nothing we can do about her now." Altare snorts, shaking his head too, "We just have to keep the brigade, and all the units under it, afloat."
The bandaged corporal saunters past the dead general and finds her assassin - the child soldier Anya Melfissa - bound to a chair. Her hands are tied with rope behind her back, her legs bound together tight as well.
"Has she said anything yet, Ves?" Altare asks.
"Not a word." Vesper answers, "She nearly bit me the last time Lieutenant Kureiji asked me to take off her gag. Feisty little brat."
Anya snarls at the two men. She thrashes and struggles but only succeeds in tipping her chair over the side and falling with a dull thud. Anya's glare, though, remains icy and sharp.
Altare's frown deepens.
His eyes wander to the other end of the room where Bettel Gavis and Flayon X Machina, the shell-shocked crew of ECN, have huddled and trembled in silence ever since they'd come upon them. With every stray bullet that whizzes through the ruined windows, every glass shard that shatters and every Pavolian mortal shell that goes off in the Manor House grounds, the newscasters shudder violently.
Altare tries to approach them, but Vesper holds him back.
"Let's... leave them alone for now." Vesper suggests, "At this point, they're probably regretting coming here to the frontline." He snorts and glances at Bettel in particular. "They probably didn't know that frontlines move quickly."
Altare heaves a sigh, glancing at the newscasters with pity. Then, he heeds Vesper's advice.
They turn around and hear the shuffling of cloth and clattering of junk as they notice Magni picking through the corpses once again. Unlike a while ago, however, the contraband smuggler goes about his business more lethargically. The enterprising glint in his eyes and the happy-go-lucky air about him has disappeared. Magni pockets plated watches and shiny trinkets mirthlessly; not even the glimmer of gold brightens his mood.
"...Odd kid," Altare murmurs.
Before Altare could say anything else, the deathly silence in the room is broken by the whir of electronics and the crackle of a radio. Altare and Vesper find Lieutenants Kureiji and Gura manning the brigade-wide radios. Ollie takes the microphone and sends her transmission.
They hear her speak, not shout, for the first time in a while.
. . .
"This is Lieutenant Ollie Kureiji, Hakos Company, to all Elysian Army stations. I repeat, this is Lieutenant Ollie Kureiji, Hakos Company, to all Elysian Army stations. Brigadier General Olivier is KIA, and so are all of her ranking officers. We are under siege at the Manor House. Requesting fire support and reinforcements. Over."
...KZZZT!
The radio crackles to life. Multiple transmissions answer Ollie at once, but one of them grabs hold of the line more firmly.
" Lieutenant Kureiji...?! " A familiar voice calls her.
"Captain Hakos!" Ollie replies, for once happy to hear her voice, "This is Lieutenant Kureiji, reporting, ma'am! Glad to hear from ya!"
A heavy sigh comes from the other end of the line.
" Thank Kanata for the R&R I took yesterday... maybe not getting tapped for Olivier's staff wasn't so bad after all. "
Ollie nods to the radio, humming in agreement. Then, she speaks once more.
"So, who's in charge here, Captain?" Ollie asks.
" Well," Bae hums on the other side, "If Olivier's staff is all dead, that makes you the highest ranking officer there. You'rein charge. "
Ollie blinks.
"W-What do you mean, I am?!" Ollie protests.
Bae's laugh comes through the transmission as a garble. " Didn't you always want a promotion? Well, now you've got one! Rally the troops and defend the Manor House till reinforcements arrive. These are my orders... First Lieutenant Kureiji! "
"First Lieutenant..." Ollie repeats her new rank and furrows her brow. "More work for the same pay, huh?"
Gura, standing beside her, lays a sympathetic hand on Ollie's shoulder.
" No complaining. You have your orders, " Captain Hakos responds. " Three allied units, including my Regular Army platoons – Company B – are on their way to the Manor House. The other two... it might be better for you to hear from them yourself. "
"M-Mysel—" Ollie stutters, but is cut off by an incoming transmission.
The radio crackles a bit. Then, another voice speaks on the other end.
" Howdy, Lieutenant Kureiji! This is Captain Calliope Mori, Company C 'Charon'."
"Company C..." Ollie comments. "Mechanized Infantry?"
" Affirmative. " Captain Mori answers, " We'll be engaging the Pavies on the Eastern flank. "
"Acknowledged, Captain Mori." Ollie nods to the radio again, "But what about the Western flank?"
Another pause ensues, followed by another crackle of static. Then, a rich, deep voice replies, " That would be our responsibility. "
Ollie raises her brow. This is the first time she has heard this voice. She is about to ask who this new person is, when the newcomer continues his spiel.
" Gemstones' blessings upon you, Lieutenant. My name is Shinri Josuiji, leader of the Xenokunian resistance. We're not a part of the Elysian military, but I assure you - we are more than capable of giving the Pavolians, our common enemy, hell ."
"The Xenokuni resistance...?" Ollie's jaw drops. "I've heard stories about you guys when I..." She pauses, "Never mind that. We'll hold the line here in the Manor House, but we're compromised from within and won't last long. E.T.A.?"
" Don't you worry, Lieutenant Kureiji. " Captain Mori reassures her, " We ain't that far off. We'll be making our presence known reaaaaaal soon. "
As Captain Mori speaks, whistling noises reach Ollie's ears, then–
BAAAAM! BRA-BA-BA-BAAAAM!
Powerful explosions, four at a time, rock the Eastern and Western hills around the Manor House - so powerful that Bettel and Flayon scream hysterically in the corner. The ground beneath Ollie's and everyone else's feet shakes violently. However, every one of them knows these roars are nothing to fear.
"Friendly 105's...!"
She looks out the windows of the ballroom and sees smoke plumes erupting alongside a cacophony of Elysian cheers and Pavolian cries.
" Hell of an entrance, Captain Mori! " Ollie praises.
" The Commonwealth gave me M7 Priests - fine self-propelled howitzer guns. I sure as HELL am gonna use 'em, " Captain Mori boasts. " But we're still fighting an uphill battle! We don't have the armor to decisively turn the tide. "
" Are you able to rally the PCAPs, Kureiji? " Captain Hakos chimes in, " Captain Mori and Mr. Josuiji – they NEED your armor ."
Ollie turns around, regarding the old barn in the distance. The flashes of gunfire coming from it and from the forests around it don't inspire confidence, but she knows she doesn't need any more of that than she already has.
"We'll find a way, Captain Hakos," Ollie heaves a sigh. "Deliver armored support and hold the line to greet support forces. Orders acknowledged; we won't disappoint. Over and out."
. . .
Ollie ends her transmission and whirls around.
"...Alright, everyone: form up," Ollie commands.
Gura, Altare, and Vesper hurry over to Ollie and stand in attention. Magni follows, unenthused.
Regardless, Ollie points out the window to the old barn just outside the Manor House grounds.
"That barn is our objective, people. That's where, due to the late Brigadier General Olivier's infinite wisdom and our consistently great misfortune, our Platoon's… and our Company's tanks are," Ollie declares with keen displeasure.
"Lieutenant Gura and I will gather the Correctional Infantry and the Regular Army troops here." Ollie forms a fist and roars, "We have to punch through enemy lines and get to that barn before they realize what's in there."
Gura lowers her head and frowns.
"I don't want to be a naysayer here, Kureiji, but our troops aren't gonna be punching through anything," Gura warns, limping slightly towards Ollie, "We were already understrength coming into this... and after this pincer attack fiasco, we're not in any position to attack."
Gura looks at the corpses scattered in the ballroom and shudders. "Launch that attack and the bloodbath in this ballroom won't be the biggest massacre today."
"...I know that," Ollie bites her thumb. "I know that, but we have to reach those tanks. Without 'em, we'll be too six-feet-under to even witness anymore bloodbaths – and the same could go for our incoming support."
Altare and Vesper grumble beneath their breaths. The two of them turn to each other, contemplating which Lieutenant to listen to.
Then, an unlikely voice breaks the statement.
The voice of Private Magni Dezmond.
"I think..." Magni starts. He clears his throat and continues, "I think we can reach the barn without having to crash into the enemy lines on the perimeter."
Everyone's eyes turn to Magni.
"And how do you propose we do that, Private?" Ollie tests.
Magni takes a deep breath and faces Ollie squarely.
"...There's a tunnel network that runs underneath the Manor House, Lieutenant," Magni confesses, placing his hand over his heart. "That's how I got my contraband, and... well..."
He glances at the carnage around him with furrowed brows. "I think that's how these Pavies got in the Manor House right under our noses."
Ollie and Gura frown. Vesper whirls towards Magni, his normally-placid face turning red with rage.
"You scoundrel...!" Vesper growls. He pulls his M1 Garand rifle from its sling and clutches it furiously.
This time, Altare holds him back.
"Let him talk, Ves." Altare urges, pushing Vesper's rifle down. He faces Magni again and urges, "Please - tell us what you know, Private Dezmond."
Magni heaves a sigh of relief and continues his confession.
"Ever since I got here, I spent a lot of time in the cellars peeling 'taters for the Correctional Infantry," Magni explains, repeating the motions in the air. He turns towards the bound Anya and grumbles, "That was where I met Miss Anya. She didn't tell me her name - hell, she didn't even speak much. She just dressed up as a maidservant and helped me peel 'taters. I thought she was one of the old Manor House staff who got left behind when the Pavies hightailed it outta here."
Altare glances at Anya's bloody, oversized Pavolian uniform. "We'll, you're not entirely wrong there."
"Yeah," Magni nods. "But then one day, she showed me some of the tunnels. There, she had crates upon crates of Pavolian supplies - Fowlboros and Playbirds and all that jazz!" He shakes his head, "I tried to snoop around those tunnels once, but I didn't get far. Miss Anya bristled at me - pushed me out of the tunnels with a broom."
"She didn't want you to see how far those tunnels ran," Ollie deduces.
"But I got far enough," Magni reveals. "One of those tunnels goes to that barn, Lieutenant." With dramatically clenched fists, he admits, "I was thinking of going back there to make a run for it... but I tried to cash out on the Pavie supplies one last time and ended up in the brig for my troubles because of a North Elysian soldier boy."
"As you should have," Vesper snaps back.
"I KNOW, I know," Magni shushes Vesper and faces Ollie once more, "But what I'm saying is – we can make it to that barn, Lieutenant. I swear it." He pounds his chest. "I'll go down there with you and show you the way. Though, we might have to fight the Pavie stragglers there."
Lieutenants Ollie and Gura pause and rub their chins.
"We can take this time to plug the gaps in our defenses," Gura hums, folding her arms. "We can also try to get Miss Anya to spill the beans... when she finally decides to cooperate with us."
Ollie nods in agreement. "A sound plan." She glances at Altare and salutes him. "See this through, Corporal Regis. Lieutenant Gura and I will shepherd the PCAPs down to the cellar and get them to rendezvous with you there."
Ollie's eyes burn with fury as she barks her orders. "Then, take the Stuarts and crush all the Pavies you see. Give them what they deserve; there's no helpin' those twisted tits."
Altare stands in attention and salutes Ollie too.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am." He lowers his hand and adds, "But there's one last request I'd like to make."
"Ask away." Ollie nods.
Altare smiles, "About PFC Syrios..."
...
Under the direction of the lady Lieutenants, Altare, Vesper and Magni help them man the radio and send out their flurry of orders. The sound of Elysian boots is a relieving one to them. Once Regular Army soldiers arrive to secure and clear the ballroom, the three men pick up their rifles and hurry downstairs.
Little by little, Elysian soldiers trickle back into the lead-peppered halls. Skirmishes break out between them and the straggler Pavolian infiltrators, but Altare leaves them to his Regular Army peers.
Though no easy feat, the men rally what remains of the PCAP tankers scattered along the path to their objective. They join Altare and company on their way down to the manor House cellar.
The shuffling of boots and crack of gunfire upsets Altare and a few of his fellow tankers. There, below a large gap under the cellar floorboards, even more skirmishes are breaking out.
Gunfire, Elysian and Pavolian, rings and echoes in the dark, dank halls carved out of basalt stone. As above, so below does the battle follow them. Hanging lamps in the tunnels are few and far in between, or so Altare observes. He leads them with what light is offered from the occasional muzzle flash, hoping with each step that the next flicker of light doesn't fall upon any one of his men, himself included. One gun in particular, though, stands out from the rest and fills the tunnel with lead, light, and an angry yet familiar cacophony.
A barking Browning Automatic Rifle.
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!
The heavy barks of the BAR are accompanied by the barking of a peculiar North Elysian.
"COME AND GET IT, PAVIE SCUM! GET SOME, GET SOME," PFC Axel Syrios growls, gunning down Pavolian soldiers in the tunnels.
Axel's BAR clicks empty. He ducks for cover and taps the other PCAP soldiers to take over for him. They proceed to fire their own weapons while Axel fumbles through the dimly-lit tunnel.
"Ayo, I need ammo for my..." Axel calls out over the gunfire. Then he stops and trails off, "BAR..."
Instead of ammo for his BAR, he finds himself face to face with Private Magni Dezmond.
Axel's face sours in disbelief.
"H-Hi, there, soldier boy." Magni stammers.
"Private Dezmond? You again!" Axel erupts like a volcano. "Scot free so soon– who the HELL decided that?!"
"The guards did when they turned tail, ran and got themselves killed by the Pavies." Magni shrugs. He then shows off his Pavolian Karabiner rifle. "Took a souvenir from the blues too."
Axel grits his teeth and squares off with Magni. Altare, however, springs to the scene and puts himself in between them.
"Hold on now, you two. We're on the same team here," Altare reminds them, laying his hands on Axel's and Magni's shoulders. "If we make it through this maze, we'll probably be in the same tank too."
"In the same tank with THAT clown!?" Axel chafes.
Vesper snorts audibly in agreement, but he just rests his Garand rifle on his shoulder in silence.
"You answered the call, Axel," Altare reassures. "Private Dezmond did too. I chose him."
"You did?" Axel raises his brow in shock, a grimace unabashedly splayed on his face.
"I did. So, I want you to trust my judgment," Altare confirms.
Axel heaves a sigh, still frustrated by Magni's very existence. The contraband hawker, meanwhile, browses through the dark tunnel for a moment and returns with a metal ammo box rustling with ammo.
"Your BAR uses .30-06 Springfields, yeah?" Magni confirms. He hands the ammo box to Axel. "Peace offering?" He offers, "After all, we're gonna be fighting a hell of a lot of Pavies down here."
Axel clicks his tongue but takes the ammo box. He opens it and finds .30-06 Springfield bullets inside.
"Fine," Axel grumbles. "I'll play ball for now."
"Thank you, Axel." Altare joins his hands together graciously, "You got here first. So what's the situation here?"
Axel shakes his head and groans. He starts reloading magazines of his BAR while he makes his report, "A helluva lot of things, Altare." He points to the branching paths of the tunnel for a while, "We've managed to get a foothold here, but the Pavie bastards ain't budgin'! ...We haven't made a damned dent; can't advance for shit ."
"That's already big progress, soldier boy," Magni comments. "This is the only path the Pavies have into the Manor House. They won't be sending any more soldiers up our asses from here anymore."
Axel doesn't hide the wince on his face, bewildered by Magni's questionable phrasing.
All the while, Elysian and Pavolian gunfire continue whizzing back and forth in the darkness.
Vesper adjusts his glasses and peeks through the tunnel, eyes squinted into mere slits. He sighs. "It's too damn dark. We can't really see far ahead."
"But neither can the Pavies," Magni insists. "They're pretty much groping through the darkness."
"So the rank and file Pavolians don't know the full layout of the tunnels either, then," Vesper assesses. "That's why they trickled into the Manor House..."
Magni nods. He then saunters over to a tarpaulin cover and pulls it off, revealing a small stack of crates. He pries them open with a crowbar and reveals their contents under a hanging lamp.
"PlayBird mags?!" Altare, Vesper and Axel gasp.
Even some of the PCAPs tankers turn towards the three men, absolutely intrigued by what they just said. Only Pavolian gunfire ricocheting off the carved basalt retakes their attention once more.
"I don't know what it is you consider 'normal,' but now usually ain't the time to slap your monkey ," Axel jests. "The Empress' pits ain't gonna send the angry blues running back home to their mommy."
" Pits , you say...? So you did check out their contents after all," Magni wheezed.
"I didn't...! I-I just guessed right," Axel squirms. Altare pinches the bridge of his nose. Vesper adjusts his glasses, barely able to hide his embarrassment.
"Yuh-huh. Listen, soldier boy," Magni speaks, regaining his enterprising, sing-song tone. "What you said just now? Plausible. Gods willin', I'd end a war over those tatas, y'know? I'll give ya points for creativity, but it's not the hottest option we got, ya dig?"
"...What do you mean by that?" Altare asks, brows furrowed.
"You really are a blockhead," Magni smirks. He goes through the cellar racks, picks up a vintage Pavolian wine bottle and shows it to his comrades.
"Watch this. I learned this in the joint!" Magni boasts, "A little bit of practical alchemy ."
He uncorks the wine bottle, rips off pages from the PlayBird magazine, and stuffs it into the neck. Then, he strikes a match and sets the paper on fire.
"EUREKA: a Molotov cocktail!" Magni declares. He holds his creation up high, posing like the Statue of Elysia carrying her torch. "Now that's hot."
"Not bad..." Altare grins at the man's ingenuity.
"It's dark as hell in these tunnels, chief, but we can change that," Magni proposes, tapping his Molotov cocktail proudly. "The Pavies stocked these items here. They probably were gonna make their own Molotovs, come to think of it." He grins, "So why don't we give them a taste of their own medicine, huh?"
Altare pauses and rubs his chin.
"That's one wild plan, Private Dezmond. If we're not careful, we could end up cooking ourselves," Altare muses, "But I like it. Caution to the wind, now."
"Alright!" Magni cheers, "Well met, boss-man. I won't let you down!"
Axel and Vesper sigh in unison, but they hold their tongues. That's Altare's green light to continue.
"Alright then," Altare gestures to Magni and his molotov cocktail. "Care to show us how to use these things?"
Magni grins, "Oh, there's nothing to it, really... Think baseball, but you wanna send the batter to hell in the here and now!"
The contraband hawker saunters to the fork in the tunnel where the Elysian and Pavolian troops continue to shoot at each other in near darkness.
"Stand back!" Magni warns. He arches his back, stretches his arm back and chucks the Molotov.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
...CRASH~! FWWWWWOOOOSH!
The molotov cocktail smashes onto a Pavolian soldier's helmet, spraying wine and fire onto him and his nearby comrades in the tunnel ahead. The fire spreads quickly, casting away the pitch-black darkness and revealing a burning mass of boys and girls in Pavolian blue.
Flames reflect off of Axel's blue eyes, and so do the Pavolian soldiers illuminated by them. He grins and shoves a freshly-loaded magazine into his BAR and grins, "THERE THEY ARE! GIVE 'EM HELL, ELYSIUM!"
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!
Axel unloads at the burning Pavolians skittering in the tunnel, ending their suffering. Altare, Vesper and the rest of the PCAPs tankers take up their positions and shoot at their wailing foes with no reservation. Magni, meanwhile, tears up more PlayBird magazine pages and makes more Molotov cocktails.
"Sorry, missus turkey-legs," Magni scoffs, stuffing a picture of the Empress into a wine bottle. "Nothing personal!"
Magni throws another molotov into the Pavolian positions, finally forcing a retreat from the invaders. In response, Altare takes a deep breath, affixes a bayonet to his Garand rifle and roars.
"BAYONETS ON! ADVANCE!"
The Elysians heed his call, their shouts and war cries flooding out the terrorized screams of the Pavolians. Their lopsided cacophony echoes off tunnel walls.
Magni takes point and guides the troops through the labyrinthine darkness, leaving a violent trail of fire and blood behind him. After moments of tumbling in the cramped and damp, they eventually find the light of the setting sun peeking through the gaps in the barn house door at the other end of the path.
Altare kicks the door open.
BAM!
Elysian PCAP mechanics, armed with shoddy old Springfield and Enfield rifles rush to the door. They take up positions behind hay bales and the eleven M3A1 Stuart tanks parked there. Every man and woman there steady their breaths and prepare to shoot, but stop halfway.
Altare marches out of the threshold, his face covered in Pavolian blood and black soot. The PCAP patch on his coat and his messy head of blue hair shake their memories.
"It's the fucking Pavie lover," The mechanics grumble.
"The Stuarts, Private," Altare wipes the soot from his face with the back of his hand. He points to the tanks they're hiding behind and asks, "Are they ready to sortie?"
"Y-Yeah, but we just maintain 'em! We ain't got no crews to ride em'," complains the mechanic. "You ain't plannin' on manning them by your lonesome, huh, chump?"
"No. I don't," Altare steps aside, letting Vesper, Axel, Magni and the rest of the PCAP tankers through the threshold. "Situation's changed. Lieutenant Kureiji's orders. We're sortieing, NOW."
The mechanics turn to each other, unable to believe what they are seeing. But then–
BAAAM! BAAAM!
Pavolian mortars rock the hill, shaking the thin wood-paneled walls of the barn. Altare clenches his fists and shouts, "DOUBLE TIME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
The blasts and Altare's words finally spur the mechanics into action. They scramble to each of the eleven Stuart tanks and begin preparing them for sortie.
Altare then turns to the tankers gathered before him.
"Roll call, everyone! We've got eleven tanks to crew and two sections to fill!"
With that, Altare pulls out a list from under his coat and proceeds to assign the PCAPs tankers to their vehicles. Even as Pavolian machine guns nick the walls of the barn and as Pavolian mortars rock the hill, Altare speaks calmly and orderly. The PCAP mechanics, meanwhile, rush to prepare the tanks for the crews assigned to them.
Altare leaves Vesper, Magni, and Axel for last.
"Private Dezmond!" Altare shouts.
"Present!" Magni reports.
"Loader, tank eleven." Altare turns to Axel, "PFC Syrios!"
"Aye-aye," Axel answers proudly.
"Gunner, tank eleven." Altare declares. Then, he turns to Vesper.
"PFC Noir!"
"At your command, sir," Vesper replies dutifully.
"Driver, tank eleven. Section A adjutant."
Altare gathers the three men and huddles with them. "We're all in this together, boys. Follow my commands and we'll be right as rain."
He lowers his head and whispers beneath his foggy breath, "...Things'll be different this time."
As Altare says this, one of the mechanics hollers, "TANK ELEVEN READY, SIR!"
"That's our cue." Altare raises his head and pats his tankers' shoulders, "Let's get this show on the road."
. . .
WHIIIIIRRRRRRR~!
One by one, the M3A1 Stuart tanks of the PCAP roll out of the barn with roaring engines. Their treads crunch through the snow sullied with blood, motor oil, and heavy machine gun shells. Their headlamps switch on too, illuminating the forests and the hills. The small contingent of Elysian soldiers who have been defending the barn cheer them on.
Altare watches the defenders from the commander's hatch of his tank. He ties up the strap of his steel helmet and holds onto the .30 caliber M1919 machine gun before him.
' They're only excited when they need us, ' Altare muses, but he forces himself to smile and wave.
At his command, the eleven tanks split into two Sections, one heading to the Eastern hills and the other to the West. Altare's armor joins the Western force.
On their way there, Pavolian machine gun nests scattered in the forested hills turn their attention to the newcomers. Bullets whiz through the snowy woodlands, striking the armor of the Stuarts.
ZIP-ZIP — TING-TANG-TING-TING!
Altare hunkers down and presses on his radio mouthpiece firmly.
"Section A! Machine gun nests, ten o'clock and twelve o'clock!" Altare reports, "Button up and fire at will; let your cannons do the talking!"
Altare and the other commanders retreat back into their tanks. They close up their hatches and command their gunners.
"Gunner," Altare calls. "High-explosive. Machine gun nests. Nine-hundred!"
Magni scrambles for a 37 millimeter high-explosive shell and loads it deftly into the tank gun breech.
"It's in!" Magni cries.
"Follow protocols!" Altare kicks him. "Just like I told you!"
"Ahn~!" Magni teases. He snorts and corrects himself, "Sorry! High-explosive, up!"
Axel peers into his gun's rangefinder and squints, "Identify!"
"FIRE!" Altare commands.
"ON THE WAY!" Axel grins. He fires their main gun, slamming the solenoid and sending a round home.
KA-BAAAAM!
The entire Stuart tank rocks from the recoil.
High-explosive shells shoot from the Section A tanks and slam into Pavolian machine gun nests, blasting them sky high. But still, some of the machine gun nests don't fall silent for long.
"Again, fire at will, gunner!" Altare urges.
"Roger!" Axel nods. Magni guides another round into the breechblock and Axel makes work of the solenoid.
Suddenly, Vesper breaks his silence.
"Commander! Enemy infantry, twelve o'clock!" Vesper reports.
"Weapons free, driver," Altare directs.
Vesper clicks his tongue and mans the driver-side machine gun. He, like the other Stuart tank drivers, fires their machine guns at the tide of Pavolian infantry, but they keep on coming.
Elysian machine gun fire mows down a number of the charging Pavolians, but there's no end to them.
"That's a lot of infantry for just a machine gun nest line," Altare hisses. "And they didn't bring tanks with them."
"They probably thought they could take the Manor House with just infantry," Vesper assesses. He adjusts his glasses and reloads his machine gun. "They almost managed to pull it off."
"Like hell they'd beat us in this battle!" Axel guffaws, peering into the main gun rangefinder. "We're gonna send them packing! Ain't that right, boys?"
"Yeah!" Magni and Altare cheer. Vesper snorts and just gives a more muted nod of agreement.
When the hail of Pavolian machine gun fire thins out, Altare turns to Vesper.
"Driver, take us forward over the crest. There's something I've got to check out."
"Moving!" Vesper acknowledges. He propels the tank forward, ahead of the rest of the Section A formation, and brings it up to the top of a small hill.
Altare pops open his cupola hatch. Freezing winds make him shudder, making him wish for a scarf, but he holds steady.
He brings out his binoculars, looking out to the mountains ahead and the Pavolian formations that dot the forests.
"...So, that's what it is," Altare scoffs. He turns the dial on his radio device and presses on his mouthpiece to report, "Manor House HQ, this is Section A leader. Requesting fire support on these coordinates. It's a Pavolian supply dump! A lot of enemy infantry are coming from there!"
Altare proceeds to give rough coordinates.
" Acknowledged, Section A leader ." Ollie's voice answers him on the radio, " Fire support is on the way. Hold the line till then! "
"Roger that, Manor House HQ." Altare turns the dial of his radio and switches back to the old channel, "Attention, Section A! Attention, Section A! Defensive maneuvers; we're holding the line here!"
With that, the six tanks of Section A spread out and form a rough line on the mountain path, positioning themselves alongside Altare's tank. They take cover behind large boulders and dips in the earth and continue raining hell upon the Pavolian machine gun nests and the advancing Pavolian infantry.
Then, Altare's radio crackles. Captain Mori's voice reaches his ears.
" Section A leader, this is Charon Company leader. My howitzers are firing for effect. I repeat - we are firing for effect. "
"Roger that, Charon Company Leader," Altare answers. "Looking forward to the lightshow!"
Loud cracks of cannonfire echo in the distance, followed by the ominous whistle of howitzer shells. Then...!
...BAAAAM! BRA-BA-BA-BA-BAAAAAAAAM!
Powerful explosions rock the Western hills, pounding the Pavolian machine gun nests there. But after a short while...
! !
The hills erupt into a violent fireball that scorches the skies. Pavolian ammunition of all shapes and sizes go off, felling evergreen trees and shaking the earth around the Manor House.
The faraway blaze sets Altare's face alight in the midst of the setting sun, but he does not bask in the fiery glow for long. He presses his radio again and commands, "Attention, Section A! Attention, Section A! To the next target; let's move!"
At his command, the six tanks of Section A form up again and proceed through the mountain pass. Altare's radio crackles once more. Ollie's voice reaches his ears.
" Hell of a show you're putting on for our boys and girls, Section A leader, " Ollie praises. " You're gunning for a promotion too, huh? "
"We're just doing our job, Lieutenant," Altare counters. "We're en route to the next enemy MG nests past the ridge. E.T.A. Six minutes."
" So now's as good a time as any to ask, then, " Ollie chimes. " Have you thought about what name to give your tank, Corporal Regis? "
Altare glances down the cupola and watches Magni, Axel and Vesper busy in their work. He smiles and presses on his radio.
"As a matter of fact, I have, Lieutenant," Altare answers firmly. "Tank Eleven shall hereby be given the field designation—"
.
.
.
TEMPEST