The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Fourteen- Operation Gooseberry II
20/10/1924 / Northern Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Forward Trench / 10:30
Sergeant-Major John Hyll did not want to die in a place like this.
He survived the New Plague back home in Aqulonia. He joined as a private in 21' and climbed across his belly to get to this rank on merit alone. He started his war in South Afrika and marched north until they retook the Suez Canal. He went on all the way to Jerusalem like the old crusaders of yore. He would not die in a filthy stinking rat hole the Imperials dared to call a trench line.
He thanked the Lord silently that this was not his first time in a trench, just his first one in Europa. Unfortunately coming with its own unique smell and flavour that created a film on his thin moustache or tongue or if he breathed through his mouth.
With most of the battalion's officers occupied or caught up in the troubled city of Arene he was relegated to survey their section of the trench; nothing he had not done before. The Imperial Lieutenant that was supposed to inform him of the area cared more for keeping his fag dry than answering questions.
The guided tour was infrequently paused for Hyll to take notes while the Imperial would create apathetic small talk. Usually pertaining to how long it would be until he would evacuate himself from the sea of mud and barbed wire. "Do you know how long until the volunteer force gets in here? We keep getting different answers from the General Staff."
"Three weeks, sir. General Stuart has said we will be fully operational by the beginning of November."
"Get the taugenichts to tell the general's that then. One day I tell my men one thing and correct myself the next."
"Get General Stuart to tell the generals, sir." Hyll corrected the Imperial who begrudgingly accepted his mistake of incorrectly addressing a foreign superior.
He might have descended from the abolished Church of Britannia but that never dissuaded his loyalties to the Stuarts. They deserved to be respected, even if they followed the Roman papacy like most of Europa. He had studied his history independent of the bible. If fate gave him the opportunity, he would have joined the Jacobites to install Bonnie Prince Charlie and his wife Annabelle onto the throne. The early loyalty independent to the subsequent purge of Protestantism from the islands once Charlie started working on the epitaph of "Bloody King Charles" to the remaining reformation states of Europa.
That assumed the scenario would put him in Albion rather than the New World.
At the completion of the tour, the Imperial provided a periscope and detailed where enemy snipers were stationed, the best paths for laying barbed wire or landmines, which holes could be hidden in and ones where men could be sucked in and drowned.
"You see the burnt-out tank?"
Hyll confirmed such through the eyeglass.
"That's the halfway point between us and the Franks. The terrain starts to climb gradually from that point too. Not too noticeable on foot but it gives their artillery an advantage on us. The General Staff tried to take the ridge last year, that's how the tank got stuck out there."
"How lucky." It explained why their supposed allies were ready to get out of here. Hyll kept that part to himself and persisted with his duty. "What's comes after the artillery pieces?"
"Nothing you'll ever see, so don't worry." The Imperial took another puff on his fag. "After the guns is the rear-guard trenches, hospitals and barracks, the standard infrastructure. Then it should be the border, a couple of kilometres of the countryside until you reach the city of Metz. An elaborate supply dump and rail hub for the north. Don't get any ideas, Tommy, you need to get past the artillery first."
"I appreciate the advice, sir." Hyll knew he might not have sounded sincere, but the effort could not be conjured. There was still work to be done while they had daylight and the insensitivity of their ally was not a worthy substitute.
"If you do get attacked by the Franks, I'll pray for you. Really." The Imperial glared, looking through the sergeant-major to something invisible beyond him. "I doubt you're green to all this. But here it's worse than anything the Rumali could have thrown at you, and I don't say that out of pride or spite for you Albions."
Hyll decided to not interject with the supposed advice he was being given. Better to let the Imperial tire himself out.
"Don't trust rank alone, when the artillery comes around you so hard you can feel your teeth vibrating everyone is lost. Your captain or crown prince won't know what to do just because they have a higher salary than you. Follow whoever seems to know what to do. Common sense and guts don't pay attention to who's supposed to give out the orders."
The Imperial took another puff to prepare for his final line,
"Hope it can be a solid soldier like yourself, no shame if it's not. Nothing makes sense when you're, as you Albion's say, "in the thick of it."
"I'm an Aquilonain, sir." Hyll stared at the Imperial, steadfast in his identity despite the indifference the other man had towards their race.
"Not much of a difference at the end of the day. Albion, Germanic, Frank, we all die the same. You'll learn soon enough."
09/11/1924/ Metz, Francois Republic / Francois Rear Headquarters, Vehicle Repair Depot / 07:10
"So, it's finalized then? We're actually doing it today?"
Captain Colette de Lechret dug her head out from the machinery of her flight gear. Her frustration was divided between her Colonel, Jehan.T Bart, and the magical contraption, both products she could tinker with but not fully alter.
For the equipment: no number of personal modifications or repairs could give her an increased performance without draining her mana near instantaneously. When she made a breakthrough under the Lechret name an official would come and confiscate her findings and bill her father for "destroyed equipment." So, what if the safety measures were disabled? Who made progress by adhering to the formula? They should instead train their mages to be careful to not blow themselves up.
For her man: she could do whatever she wanted if she let herself. The Colonel already bent to her desires without needing prompting. He was always at his best when around her, she found herself doing the same for Jehan. It was an adorable quirk, polished buttons, clean red and blue uniform, never without boots to compensate for his height. Willing to do whatever was asked to please her, if only she could follow through to exploit that opportunity from her estates.
While she had influence over those two extensions of her life, what she could do nothing about was this disaster Jehan came to discuss.
"It's official. General De Lugo protested until the end but was overruled by a majority vote. Operation Groseilliers will be carried out at noon. That gutter snipe Vianto was there at the meeting yesterday, sucking up to De Lugo as expected. His closest supporters seem to be the only two against using the Blackwing today."
"Like a leech. He only switched his stance to get on De Lugo's good side." Colette commented, standing up from her maintenance but lost for further words.
Colette turned to face Bart, leaning against a utility box in her semi-private workstation in the vehicle depot. Her body rested on the seat of her rideable gear. The noises of final preparations and tools at work was the ideal cover for their conversation.
The Colonel would not appreciate her bringing up the topic repeatedly, but Colette knew how to twist out what she wanted from him. It was a fair strategy if performed in small doses. Manipulative flattery was only wrong when it failed to work or became perverse.
Like that Albion kid in the Vatican, he had no issue with bothering General De Lugo but snuffed his nose at her family name. Little brat: he was just old royalty; the kid and his sidekick probably had no credentials beyond the nepotism form of governing. Her family name was as old as the Republic itself and was practically raised inside university walls.
"Our infantry will march out into the Empire without air cover." Colette retied her ponytail to fix loose strands of blonde hair; she knew Jehan loved watching her do it.
Jehan grazed his face but retorted. The temptation resisted for a moment longer. "They will be concealed in the gas. It'll be the mages sitting above the cloud if they are sent in the first wave. Best to keep you all on standby until the hole in the line is made."
"And when that line is broken we will all be sitting in Metz, waiting for them to get overwhelmed."
"They won't reinforce into entrenched infantry protected by a cloud of poisonous gas."
There was a moment of relative silence between her and the fellow officer. Shouts of mechanics or screeching tools filled in while Colette finished fixing her hair, breaking Jehan out of his trance.
"What do you want me to do captain?" She had him, now to see if she could finish the
"Let me take my men out. We have spells that make us immune to gas. Let us take on the problems head-on."
"There won't be any problems Colette...Captain Lechret." The Colonel blushed at his errors in naming. Moving on to address the alleged soundness with the tactical decision. While her heart skipped when hearing her name, it was more frustrating to be rejected. "General Lugo has been behind the operation since its conception, and those Beneficiarius officers filled the void when he refused to work with the gas. It will work, I assure you."
She trusted De Lugo, that was in part why his absence struck a chord. The minority wanted mages and air-cover, the decisive majority went with experimental weapons and their egos.
It was not fair; she was doing everything right and the world kept getting in the way.
Why must God give her these pointless difficulties? Why was her engineering genius and eidetic memory not enough to bypass what was presented before her? An industry that could only produce mediocre flight gear, officers that made idiotic plans and different coloured eyes; the right an unappealing bright blue and the left a dull castaneous.
Jehan said they were beautiful. "Like the ocean touching the warm beaches of Calais." It was good that he liked them, he was wrong but if it made him infatuated with her then it could be tolerated.
Thinking of the Lechret accomplishments or her heterochromia iridum did nothing for Colette at the moment. She was being denied what she wanted but more importantly was witness to a jeopardized operation. Worst of all was the faith her Colonel had in the plan that would lead to failure.
Jehan stepped away from the utility box, closer to her than what would be expected in a platonic superior and subordinate relationship. Colette knew she should protest, trapped between her flight gear and the kind smelling human body of Jehan. For now, she wanted him there in front of her. Out of all the gifts and concessions she could extract out of Jehan, his proximity was her favourite.
"The way I see it, you mages have the most important job here." Jehan slowly moved his hand forward, its trajectory residing on her hip. "It will be us pushing through the breach once the infantry gets in."
Jehan made contact, bringing his body ever closer to her person. If it were a different environment Colette would drape her arms around his neck to eliminate the empty space entirely. She had to settle for crossing them in front of her chest as Jehan finished his just praise.
"And I would not trust anyone more to bring victory to the Republic than you, Colette."
Jehan used her name again, in this position it would be odd to pretend at formalities consistent with regular officers.
"I think I have something a bit better than the Republic to fight for, Jehan." She wanted to reach out and touch what was rightfully her property, if only he was smart enough to see that she was right.
09/11/1924/ Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / 1KM above Forward Trench / 11:58
Gabriel stared out at the Rhine Front, the modern wasteland.
The gift of flight amplified the sheer destruction that unfolded over the past year. Rolling fields of brown, broken by craters, and destroyed metal creatures. Vegetation ceased to exist, replaced by jagged metal and thin lines of trenches stretched for an eternity.
The worst quality was the smell. The battlefield of Afrika and Anatolia were no less kind, yet their stench was perpetuated by arid heat. The misery here created a smell wet in its description that managed to reach him hovering above the earth.
"Remember when we were in Tanzania?"
"The Driver ants?" Peggie wore the same foul expression as she hovered next to the Lieutenant. "When we found a colony that built a nest in that dead guy? The smell?"
"And I said it was the worst smell I ever experienced in my life. I want to change my answer."
"You and me both, Gabriel."
They both remained silent as they took in the sight of what was apparently "modern war." Their attention diverted between maintaining their hobbled hovering stance and the totality of the scene.
Gabriel knew Hell was supposed to be inconceivable suffering. While the innovation of photography and film let him see similar scenes of human conflict before, seeing the Rhine front was a new experience.
"It is the scale of it..." Peggie was the only one in earshot, but the words felt directed at himself.
Miss Serebryakov was correct. There could be no clever manoeuvring or cavalry charges that would produce results. The only way forward was straight through. No wonder Major Degurechaff aired her doubts of him and the 27th, to think he initially thought it was cruelty.
"We should get on with it." Peggie awkwardly started, pulling on the radio box strapped to her back to retrieve the headset. Gabriel nodded held up the pair of binoculars that came with the radio.
Artillery spotters normally worked alone and when they had a partner the procedure was never so casual. Gabriel recalled he first met the Major when she was doing the same.
A baby lost in the adult world, over a year later and nothing had changed for poor Tanya.
Opposed to himself and Peggie, simply lost where they were not assigned to be. They survived on the loophole granted to him by James and surveyed the new battleground for the Wing. The night was spent in a barn and borrowing breakfast from a mobile mess hall. They were wandering around the anti-air implements when an officer asked for two spotters. An authoritative figure that became submissive when he recognized the youngest Stuart, pleased to be in his presence. Unaware that Gabriel's presence was birthed from manipulation and disobedience towards the crown prince.
At least in the sky, he could accomplish all his goals simultaneously.
"Do you see the artillery?"
"I can confirm. Francois artillery is out of range on the ridge." Gabriel listed off the details regulation asked of him as a spotter.
"May the Lord have mercy on our enemy and ourselves." It would only be a test shot to see if the artillery could hit the coordinates, meaning the possibility of death remained present. Christ taught them to have mercy and love for their enemy, lest they be like the hypocrites in the synagogues. A just war with a worthy cause against a foe that had wronged God's children.
Peggie knocked Gabriel out of his reflection by asking for the time after she relayed the analysis. Gabriel checked and relayed accordingly. "Two minutes to noon."
They watched in silence as the enemy lines remained inactive. What could house hundreds if not thousands of souls appeared abandoned. Was there a point in bombarding it?
"Maybe the Franks have gone home." Peggie tried to break the silence before the guns took the opportunity away from her.
"I hope not. It is better to fight them here than in the city. I do not want another Jerusalem."
"You're sounding like your brother Gabriel." Peggie apologised for the comparison before Gabriel finished his sigh.
It was better to cling onto the silence than be elevated to the status of the crown prince.
A distant bang hung in the air, the start to the sympathy of faint explosions that propelled further destruction at the enemy.
Gabriel checked the binoculars again, he thought something was wrong and saw what it was. It was the Francois guns firing.
"Call it in Peggie."
"Got it."
The shells landed with the expected explosion, thumping into no man's land and the Commonwealth's line with precision. No pause after the initial impact before another explosion took its place and sent more dirt into the air.
The infantry on the ground would be hunkered down, hiding the Frankish front line from view and behind a wall of fire. No limitations affected those with flight, granting a view of a sickly greenish-yellow smoke rapidly leaked onto the battlefield. A thick wall of the mist quickly built and into No man's land.
Gabriel and Peggie both saw it, stunned into silence. It had not been the first use of chemical weapons in warfare or the first one used against the Commonwealth. That thin comfort meant nothing in the present situation.
"Peggie!"
"I'm calling it in. What do we do?"
That was something Gabriel had to figure out. They had altitude but no targets. Their oxygen masks were with their planes, but mages could circulate clean air out of most poisons meaning they could survive the toxic cloud. This was never a situation they trained for, they were not supposed to be here at the front lines. What were they supposed to do?
"This is Alleycat two, we got-"
A hail of bullets and anti-air shells exploded around their passive shields. The explosions sent them back, falling back for several meters until they managed to control the flight. Instinct dictated policy and Gabriel threw all available mana into defences, stabilizing the transparent shield for the next hit. Gabriel looked for and found Peggie, located by her screeches of panic as more explosions closed in around them.
Their flight gear was built for speed, not strength. The coordinated volley already took enough out of Gabriel. Pain seeped into his arms as he forced them to strengthen the shield.
They had to get out of here, they were dead if flew any longer.
Gabriel winced as another explosion hit his active barrier. Creating a jolt of shock run up the length of his overheating arms.
That informed him of what they had to do. He wanted to get out of this place, the same sentiment held by every soldier below in the path of the toxic cloud.
"Peggie! Get in the trench!" She might not have heard Gabriel's communication formula over the flack but picked up on the sentiment. Redirecting her flight down to follow the Lieutenant.
Landing without a Wendigo was always a challenge, under the present circumstances it was only feasible to slow down and soften the landing with further positioning of the shield.
They landed directly in the front trench with minimal difficulty or grunts of pain. Gabriel faired better and pulled Peggie up from the dirt. An artillery shell meters above them sent both back down to the ground. A new threat that was neglected in the moment of panic.
The mud stuck to Gabriel's clothes like glue. Sticking to the lenses of his goggles and contaminating the infantry that pulled them against the trench wall as more artillery fell around them.
Each explosion made Gabriel flinch further down the wall. Vibrations felt in his teeth that highlighted and stressed each part of the human body. A direct hit would be fatal with shields, the shots that missed made a noise so loud entertaining thought or prayer was impossible. The only option was to huddle next to Peggie, hoping the shell that hit them would do so quickly.
Up there they were the targets of more accurate flack, while painful it was preferable to the alternative.
He could almost forget how terrified he felt when being directly shot at. Having to experience Peggie shivering against him was worse.
The vail of gunfire lifted, leaving a smell of surfer and a ringing that lingered in the ears.
"Gas." Peggie whispered, reminding Gabriel of the reality they were in.
"Gas. Gas. Gas!" He repeated, first to himself then the men around him. Mages might not have curried significant respect, but they heeded the warning seriously. He had to find an officer, regain feeling in his legs, get Peggie to radio the headquarters, and peel her grip from him.
One of the soldiers with the new face protection managed the final point for him, bringing him up as he had saved him before.
Without further thinking, Gabriel was already reaching for his computation orb, recalling the formula for vocal enhancements. The mana felt numb in his hand as it touched the orb through his redcoat. He already felt drained but forced out whatever message his voice could produce.
"Incoming gas attack! Incoming-" Another explosion sent Gabriel stumbling back onto the ground. It was a smaller explosion than the heavy guns but the most accurate shot so far.
Spotters had started to report the same, announcing the threat through shouting and spin-able wooden clickers. The top of the toxic cloud was not visible when Gabriel rolled onto his back, so they must have had a better view or heeded his warning. Another small explosion landed nearby before the thought could be contemplated further.
The movement would have been easier without the metal boots and backpack standard for the 27th. When coated with mud it became ladened with dead weight. That had to be remedied, they lacked the room to take flight and if they did so it would be their demise.
Gabriel started with the boots after he crawled back to the trench wall alongside Peggie.
"Can you get anything?"
Peggie shook her head, suspecting jamming spells or some disruption in the rear. Gabriel brought her attention to the large dent on the side of the box where she landed. With a kick, the radio was abandoned to the duckboards.
"Now what?" Peggie yelled as more small explosions rapidly went off around their position.
Gabriel hoped she would have taken the lead. But she was as clueless as he was. They were mages, they belonged in the sky fighting among their fellow race of men. Gabriel's training dictated they should remove themselves from this place. A sentiment that the panicked breathing stood by.
The veterans around them barely reacted to the continued explosions. Their faces were obscured behind masks, if they were enraptured by fear it refused to motivate them away from a ready position. A single hit in the trench would be enough to kill them all and that appeared to be of no consequence to these men.
Bravely wavering the storm, these were the citizens Her Majesty demanded and deserved. How could he have contemplated abandoning them? He was supposed to be a prince to these people, rarely did he live up to that responsibility. Past failures could not be repaid or fixed, he only had the ability to make this day different.
Gabriel put aside the shame he felt and turned to the closest soldier. He had to shout the question twice until the man could give a muffled but stressed response on the location of his superior officers. By locating them he might be able to ascertain his usefulness in this situation.
"Dugout, the next two bends sir. Wait for the mortars to stop first." He pointed over Gabriel's shoulder, giving him a direction.
Mortar fire, that made sense. Gabriel never experienced mortars and if he survived the hour he would not welcome a second occasion. If they were in mortar range, then the infantry would soon be in their position. It clarified why their shots were so accurate, they were detecting the mana signal of his and Peggie's formula to substitute gas masks.
"God help us." Gabriel thought he might have pled aloud, more explosions barely making it audible in his head. He heard it however, that was always enough.
Gabriel pulled Peggie closer, shouting directly into her ear in the vain hope she might hear the danger in using mana and the order for her to remain here. The look on her dirt covered face implied she vaguely understood what was said.
Fumbling the last of his encountering equipment off, Gabriel disregarded the advice of his better man by moving out. Tumbling back onto the ground in tune with another mortar but moved on before he was dragged back to relative safety.
The ground continuously shook with further shelling that made the sprint a hobbled experience. Gabriel ceased the mana for his formula, the gas was presenting itself with a horrid smell. It somehow overpassed the wet rot with a concoction that tainted his nostrils with chemicals. Hopefully, there was a spare at the dugout, the alternative was uncomfortable to dwell on.
One shell struck the path in front of Gabriel, the shock knocking him backwards and the air out of his lungs. His body hurt but not in the manner that would implicate a shrapnel wound. The men that huddled in the area screamed in pain or reflexive fear, the ones that stayed silent laid down limp with mutilated body parts or missing limbs.
Someone pulled Gabriel upwards before he could force his legs to start working again. It was Peggie, predictably disobeying her orders. Her rifle swapped out for the shotgun she looted in Dacia. She said something inaudible to him before descending onto one of the dead bodies, acquiring a used gas mask off the deceased with minimal reservations. With less hesitation than in procuring the protection, she tossed it over, shouted again then ran off before he could argue back.
While unpleasant to watch, Peggie undoubtedly smelt what was coming and felt equally terrified of suffering from it. Gabriel turned away from the infantry as he pushed goggles onto his helmet and stretched the lining down his face. He had to stuff his gloves into a pocket in order to get a finer grip on the tool. Christ taught them, not to hate, but that lesson would be greatly tested if it was his friend's possession repurposed upon their unfortunate demise. Once the seals around his face were secured, he joined Peggie in stumbling forward as dirt threw itself onto them.
A breach in the line existed where an entrance should be. The trench wall into their side had caved in with fire and debris atop the ruins. A tall NCO was present in this stretch, marching around trying to maintain organization among the men and surviving radios: A vain attempt to prevent the inevitable collapse.
Gabriel hobbled over to him while Peggie looked over to the firing line. He identified the rank by the shoulder patches before attempting to shout over the bombardment.
"Sergeant major, sir! Where's the situation?"
The man crouched to Gabriel's eye level as he shouted an update. Assuming the evident mages to be assistance rather than a hindrance to the present.
"We're trying to contact headquarters to relay the situation, sir."
The soldier was off before Gabriel could annoy him with another question. That was it then, they were without orders or any way of getting reliable ones.
Gabriel slumped back into the alleged safety against the trench wall with the others. The absence of the other magic user was realised and found in rapid succession. The girl dressed in red was easy to find, stuffing bullets into her gun, she ignored calls to get to what amounted to cover.
Peggie stuck her head into the open for whatever view she could find. The gas still crawled forward; the infantry was nowhere to be seen according to her faint testimony. The Franks were making a slow advance, but the artillery proved they were in fact there. One of those small shells exploded in the distance, dirt and smoke enveloped Peggie which caused her body to slump onto the firing line.
Gabriel froze at the scene, reality around them peeled away. Why was she not getting up? He was crouched over her body before he realised he had moved. Blood poured from her scalp, a large indent into the front of her helmet. A pulse and heartbeat were found when Gabriel put his ear to her chest, still beating strong. That was unlikely to continue because of him.
The fool turned off her shields, just as he had ordered her to. Now she could die because of the decision to strip themselves of the one advantage they had. It should be him laying there, not the person that willfully followed him into this cursed land.
Gabriel stripped off the gas mask and worked it onto Peggie. Not made simple by Peggie's limp nature, she could live with her personal space being violated, she would at least live.
The scent of rancid chemicals and rot perforated his nostrils even while he held his breath. Gabriel had to disregard his concerns and activated the oxygen spell again, clearing his sinuses from the venom unleashed onto them. The mask's seal was secured around Peggie's face in time for the cloud to envelop the trench line. Gabriel put his goggles back on and pulled Peggie's corpse-like body back to the wall. The sweat on his face stung when the greenish-yellow cloud picked at his skin. The thin layer of magic is the only safeguard from an excruciated death.
His friend was dying beside him, and he lacked the courage to accept the death he prescribed onto her. It should be him, not Peggie or any of the soldiers here cursed to die to one of the many forces oppressing them at the moment.
Gabriel fumbled for his necklace as he leaned into Peggie's body. Finding it and holding onto the wooden cross tighter than his gun. If it was any bigger he felt like it might crumble into countless pieces. If it did he could not feel it from the pressure amounting from the grip. It gave no practical strength, but it calmed him out of habit.
Gabriel asked himself what could he do? Retreating was out of the question, remaining still was effectively the same and the toxic mist was beyond his control. The biggest obstacle beset upon them would be the same one that nearly killed Lieutenant Pierre.
The mortars, he would have to take out the mortars.
That meant he would have to go out there.
Gabriel felt for and touched his necklace again. Is this what she would want of him? Unlikely, her latest correspondence pleaded with him to "stay safe my Dear." That did not excuse him from neglecting his duties either. There had been countless examples where she suffered for the sake of her kin. He might not see her again, but he could not face her if he rejected her wisdom for the impression of safety.
It was his fault. The enemy locked on to his mana and pummelled that spot for the mage. He might as well shoot the rest of these men in the head with the service revolver. It would be quick that way.
It was better to die trying to amend his mistakes than to let them continue. That way he could face Christ with less regret stained onto his heart. A final goodbye was whispered to the unconscious Peggie, her safety could not be guaranteed if he left but it was certainly called into doubt if he stayed. The fact he hesitated to protect the girl he had been raised with meant any resulting injury or ailment he might incur was deserved.
Gabriel spared himself one final look inside his helmet, the last time he might see the faces of his family. It would have to be enough as he ascended from his huddled position and committed himself to do this plan.
More than one pained shriek filled the air as Gabriel stepped away from the wall; hunched down as he affixed the bayonet to the front of his rifle. It along with his basic kit would have to be enough to get to the mortar teams, hopefully getting back would present itself when it came.
The tall NCO noticed him and approached, face unreadable behind the gas mask while evidently confused.
"Your Highness, sir?" The man was taken aback by the mucky face looking up at him. Seeming to reflexively motion a salute that was incomplete in the anarchy of the situation.
"What do you think you're doing, sir?"
If Gabriel had a truthful answer he would give it. He was still wondering why he took it upon himself aside from accumulated guilt. Instead, Gabriel shook his head; it was too long an inglorious story and irrelevant to the moment. He did not need reminders to the standard he failed to meet while attempting to remedy it.
"Someone needs to take out those mortar teams. Sir." Gabriel shouted as more dirt and smog rained down on the two of them. He saw the disbeliefs through the lenses of the mask look down on him, but the man was unable to stop him from stepping onto the parapet with the infantry.
The line fired into the mass of green-yellow fog, phantom shots returning to whiz by or send dirt flying towards them. In there, was the men that carried out this attack, that shot at Peggie and killed many good men with this terror weapon.
These would be just killings, no murdering of the innocent, that was something only the Franks did that day.
Gabriel pooled his mana into his oxygen formula and active barrier. The tingling of warmth worked its way to bring scarce heat into his body.
"Company! Face forward!"
The soldiers got into the ad hawk position on side of the trench. The difficulty of the continued mortar fire not delaying the trained men. Gabriel could barely stand while the men who volunteered to die here showed no difficulty. To let them fulfil their commitment would be criminal negligence worthy of blasphemy. If anyone was to die it should be him and any scum that dared to harm these servants of Her Majesty.
"Lord give me strength." Gabriel whispered a final plea as his hand reached for the lip of the trench, his boots finding nooks to climb upward and into the mud. An explosion caught Gabriel as he reached the top, stunned but otherwise committed to the insanity of his plan.
The sergeant-major was shouting for his men to "fix bayonets" when Gabriel forced the first step forward into no man's land. Further words of prayer escaped from gritted teeth.
The barbed wire that nominally protected the line was blown away by the artillery barrage, no doubt the intended outcome for the Franks. It would let them into the line while simultaneously letting Gabriel out into the cloud. What was first a hobble became a sprint on shaken legs. The bayonet forward as he had seen from the air countless times before. It seemed fair that it would be his turn one day if he told himself that then it could prevent the coward within him from turning back.
He was useless back there, out here he might prevent the enemy from firing the mortar shell that would hit the injured Peggie. That was enough motivation to stick his bayonet out and march forward onto oblivion.
The gas made visibility near impossible beyond several meters. Gabriel's vision ended at the tip of his modern spear, to increase it with formulas would be impossible. It was unlikely another mage would be there and regular infantry gave off no mana signature. They would see him before he could find them.
Another shell hit close by, a hunk of rusted metal from the field bounded harmlessly off the barrier. It caused Gabriel to trip again, but it was inconsequential in stopping the charge. He was drawing some of their fire; anything else was a success
When a bullet hit his shield he would produce an explosive formula in retaliation. An explosion occasionally joined by a pitched scream emitted from where the original bullet came from. It was inefficient but his advantages were two-fold: a regenerative shield and someone behind him that was worth dying for.
Gabriel paced further into the gas at his stead speed, occasionally sprinting when a cluster of explosions was too close, and his formula consequently weakened. One such instance sent him forward, the gas revealing a man standing upright that caught the front end of Gabriel's bayonet. The man fell, the gun falling into the mud and taking its owner with it.
Caught by surprise Gabriel fell with the momentum past the first man into the line, lone Albion/Catalonian and Franks equally disoriented to the sequence of events. Gabriel rolled onto his back, the Franks were mixed between the explosions of their own artillery, continuing the steady advance, and the sudden injury to their comrade. The chaos overlooked Gabriel for a moment, he might survive if he stayed here and let the enemy wander over him. He just had to not make himself a threat to them.
He pulled his revolver and knife out of their respective holsters.
The first casualty was a man's knee that was about to step on Gabriel, being stabbed as a deterrent. The revolver unloaded into the men around the Frank that had unintentionally stolen his rifle, five more men fell onto the ground.
Gabriel cursed himself, he only had the six shots and wasted them all at once. Of further concern, more were alerted to his presence and given a motive of vengeance.
The man who currently had a blade in his knee drew his own, Gabriel amplified his active barrier and the knife only managed to puncture the magical green hue.
Gabriel got to his knees, and swung the gun, striking against the enemy's hand. Each mindless swing aimed higher until Gabriel pummelled him into the mud. Dead or otherwise, the enemy was not moving with many more to fill his place.
The knife hummed with the mana Gabriel poured into it, strengthening the blade slicing through the first Frank he stuck it into.
Unenchanted rifles and blades bounded off the ever-weakening barrier. Gabriel could feel the waning strength of his shield but to put more mana into it would jeopardize his oxygen supply. The only retaliation was to indiscriminately stab and slash or bash his gun at anything dressed in Republican blue. The ranks gradually thinned but that was no indication of the casualties he created. Gabriel tried to look at the scene after he extracted the knife from the neck of one man to plunge it into the mask of a man behind him. A group of onlookers had surrounded him but engaged without coordination. Their shouts were untranslatable in the general chaos of the moment but vitriolic in their tone. Others uninvolved with the fight advanced or retreated without uniformity, each appearing to rely on their deposition over command structure. It was of no consequence to Gabriel's strategy of swinging at anything in arms reach.
He attempted to pull the knife out, caught on what might have been bone or fabric of the gas mask. Gabriel squeezed a minuscule amount of further magic to strengthen the blade and succeeded in separating the hilt from the enemy; the blade broke away as the dead man fell in the glue-like mud. The useless knife joined its other half in the filth.
An enemy thrusted towards the mage's defences with a functional knife in a downward motion. Instead of deflecting off the shield, it broke through, shards of mana visibly disappearing into the tainted air. Gabriel tried to grab the weapon, catching it by the serrated blade before it entered his throat. His brain was unable to register the pain in his hand or attempted punches delivered by the enemy. All mental faculties were devoted to restarting the active barrier and keeping the knife out of his body.
His computation orb was too weak, unable to be metaphorically pulled in multiple directions with continuous demanding spells. He cursed himself for not knowing or doing better. If he had then there would be a better contingency plan for this scenario than flailing his empty revolver against the mask of the man who would kill him, assuming the Franks had not reloaded and shot him first.
Gabriel dropped the gun and clawed at the mask of his attacker. Exploiting the sole advantage, he had on the ground. The attacker started to panic at the act. He tried to force thrust and twist the knife only to forfeit the potential kill. With all his attention to the breathing apparatus Gabriel could place him in between the enemy shooters, the human shield recoiled forward soon after.
Gabriel could tell from the force they shot their own man in the back in a bid to kill him. There appeared to be no morality or honour among the Republican army. They deserved to be punished for their transgressions against humanity.
Gabriel tore off the mask and the man started to cough out what little life remained in him. He deserved it, in a moment Gabriel knew he could make it infinitely worse with the exposed kit of the dastardly Frank: A hand grenade attached to a bandoleer strapped to the soon to be dead man's chest.
Gabriel fumbled and pulled the pin and pushed the Republican back into the men that shot him. He managed to pick his revolver back up, turn around and take one step before the explosion that took out the remaining threats.
Gabriel stayed still as the ringing in his ears slowly dissipated to acceptable levels. The effort to open his eyes, much less stand, could not be mustered. His formula still worked in spite of the exhaustion and pain he felt. He silently thanked the Lord that his only injury so far was manageable.
His bleeding hand twitched as he moved it to his neckline, his necklace was still there. There was some hope left in this situation.
Gabriel propped himself on his elbows, then his knees, lastly his head rose above the dirt and mud.
The gas was still there, its inhabitants no longer marching but fighting a new occupant. The men once in the trench had joined their meek prince in the toxic fog to stab and bayonet the invading Franks.
The sergeant-major dug his bayonet out of a dead Frank's belly. Gabriel failed to recognize him until he stood above him and was pulling him back to his feet.
"I issued runners, sir. The rest of the line will follow behind us, sir."
Gabriel failed to formulate a response. Had they come out here on his unintentional guidance. His dirtied rifle was handed back to him by the sergeant major. Eager to continue the offensive disputed Gabriel's silence.
"They have the fear God in them. Now we send them back to Parisii!"
That was an order, not from his commanding officer, but one worthy of their time and efforts.
"Yes sir!"
The tall man nodded then yelled for the loosely organized line to push forward. Shadowing the enemy's retreat, the countercharge had little strategy or mercy. Gabriel focused on sending artillery formulas downrange than accuracy. If the explosion caused no collateral damage, then it was successful. The infantry did most of the consequential work. Enemies that appeared in the fog were stabbed or shot without a second thought. It should make the Commonwealth proud it could produce such competence on a wide scale. The one who lacked significant Frankish blood on his bayonet was himself, and he came out here to protect them. These were the soldiers of Her Majesty, not personal guards allowed to step in front of him. That was to be remedied immediately, enacted with a charge when the enemy's front line was identified out.
"Invicta!" It was all Gabriel would think to say, to hear it repeated back with such vigour reassured him that these were worthy men he marched with.
Gabriel fired a bullet at the first humanoid shape he saw when the gas cleared. An Adrian helmet popped off of the head of the target as the head split open and the contents splattered out. A volley of bullets ricochets off the barrier, answered by the rifles of the men stationed behind the shield. The surviving Franks retreated from the firing line to forfeit it to the Commonwealth.
Fear was a powerful motivator, to taste it was overpowering, to wield it was intoxicating.
Gabriel worked back the bolt and fired a magically enhanced round into the area. Those foolish enough to stand their ground would be blown apart for it.
The shadow of infantry followed Gabriel into the trench, scurrying around looking for more Franks to kill. He found and ventured down a support line deeper into enemy territory, the bayonet threatening the empty air around each overturned create. One Republican managed to lob two bullets and a grenade into his shield, when the explosion subsided Gabriel made sure he was disembowelled for the effort.
A doorway into a dugout emerged in the trench wall, Gabriel peeked inside but found only radio equipment in the dim room. There could be Franks inside, making it a possible threat to notify the enemy of their new position. That risk made Gabriel enter with his rifle ready to put down whoever he found inside.
His barrier was still weakened from the charge and recent damage. Gabriel knew that simply meant he had to kill anyone in here on the first attempt. The longer the enemy had a line to the rear would risk more soldiers getting maimed or worse.
One figure sprang up from the tables of radios, managing to get in the first shot but not able to protect himself as could a mage. He became a corpse instantly and was thrown back onto a table. A second enemy tried to pounce on Gabriel when was fully in the room, pushing him against a wall but otherwise inept in strategy. Easily pushed away, granting room for the rifle to move and pierce the chest of Gabriel's attacker. The Frank cried in pain as he fell off the jagged iron, not yet dead so put down with a bullet into the head.
A third emerged from where the first Frank had popped into existence, an officer, with a pistol in one hand a hatchet in the other. He unloaded his weapon before Gabriel had the opportunity to face the oncoming threat.
He raised his left hand to strengthen the barrier, the fleeting stability failing and the green mana dissolving once again before Gabriel's eyes. The pistol fired again and an abrupt pain tears into his extended palm. It was the sensation of a cane striking the flesh for a brief second, then exaggerating into a flash of fire running down his forearm.
Gabriel aimed the rifle roughly at the enemy with his remaining hand. The kick from the gun and injury sent Gabriel onto his back for what felt like the thousandth time that day. There was a scream in the stale air of the dugout that did not emit from his lips. He could not check but that meant Gabriel could examine his wound while the scum that shot him writhed around in pain.
There was the expected bullet hole in his hand, blood pulsed out to drip and onto his tunic. Gabriel grunted when he noticed the missing exit wound, the metal was still inside him, lodged in a bone. The pain that emitted to his elbow hinted at its location. Tears already swelled from his eyes along with the grotesque croaking from his throat that should never be associated with a prince. The left-hand shot and the right cut open by a bayonet; Gabriel was unable to convince himself at the moment that this was preferable to a fatal wound. That promised an end to this agony resembling fire underneath his skin.
Just because the enemy failed to kill Gabriel, did not mean the courtesy had to be returned.
"You bloody, rotten Frank!" Gabriel hoisted himself into a crawl that put him on top of the wretch that shot him. His wound clutched against his chest for safety as the one semi-functional hand implanted itself into the face of the Frank. Every foul word he could think that was associated with the Francois language came out as his fist repeatedly struck the man.
Resistance was nominal but overpowered by the lieutenant. If he had function over both his hands Gabriel would settle for strangling the man to death. Getting to watch the life slowly drain from his eyes would be adequate compensation for the small bullet somewhere between Gabriel's wrist and humerus. Instead, Gabriel settled for grabbing the hatchet swung at him
"You mind if I take this? I think it might come in handy." Gabriel did not wait for an answer to his bitter sarcastic question, content with taking it regardless of the Republican dog's last wishes. The steelhead was raised above his head and the blade was brought down against the bridge of the Frank's nose. A shallow hit but unable to prevent another swing to carve into the left eye socket.
Gabriel uttered more expletive words under his breath after each swing, not stopping until the metal head was tainted with the substance of its former owner. The remains of the deceased spilt onto the makeshift floor. Gabriel breathed deeply; each influx of air larger than the last until the necessity was exhausted. There was more work that needed to be done, more enemy vermin that threatened Queen Annabelle's soldiers, and more obstacles that sought to stand between them and liberating Albion.
More sinners to smite with the power of God.
09/11/1924/ Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Commonwealth Rear Headquarters, planning room / 12:22
"Cheers."
Erich von Rerugen extended his glass to toast with General Stuart's. His Highness made a point of gloating on the alleged quality of his Caledonian whisky for the entire meeting. A rare luxury to the family exiled from the island that produced the liquid. He was moderately surprised the offer was made, considering the logistics agreement the General Staff had enforced upon the Commonwealth's expeditionary force.
"I must say, you're all rather clever." General Stuart smelled his glass before it was brought to his lips. The room buzzed with activity, but the royal was tranquillized into a state of calm with his alcohol.
"I don't believe I understand your compliment."
"That plan you locked us into. Ceding limited rail lines then have the rest of our supplies shipped on your trains, it's a rather clever way to vassalize us."
Rerugen detected no cynicism where he expected it to be, especially from the Albion Crown Prince.
"I'm not sure what to say that would be appropriate."
"Say nothing then, often best." The prince hid a self-pleasing smile behind his glass.
Stuart slammed the whisky into his mouth, Rerugen mimicked the motion but reacted differently. Nearly choking when his tongue was lit on fire at the first wave of the poison. Despite his internal voice of reason telling him to spit it across the table, he reluctantly forced the substance down his throat.
"Not a fan then?" General Stuart seemed to gloat in between Rerugen's heavy coughs, pouring another glass of the alcohol for himself.
"It's like drinking diesel engine oil." Rerugen rubbed away the aching sensation from his mouth.
"Best not let my sister hear that, she can put this away like its water and sail a battleship."
"I appreciate the warning."
"Well..." General Stuart manhandled the bottle of vial liquid, pointing the neck at the Imperial. "We try to put Europa at peace. We extend a hand of friendship to the Empire. Then we offer food, fuel and material, give away a volunteer force, offer loans and inspect your navy - for free might I add. It is fair to say being helpful is in the Commonwealth's nature."
The prince poured another serving of whisky into the Imperial's cup.
Rerugen resigned himself to maintain the emotional neutrality the situation demanded. That did not detour his opinions from occupying the response to the prince's statement.
"The Empire has learned to be cautious, perhaps to a detriment. The risk of losing what is gained can be paralyzing. That being said, we are caught in a two-front-"
"Would have been three fronts without our code breakers." General Stuart cut in while he smelled the whisky again.
"A war which merits continued caution. It is bad policy to appear..." Rerugen lost himself to the proper word. The prince interjected himself once again to fill the void.
"Subservient?"
"That term can work."
"Of course, it does." The prince was back on another minor tangent. "It would explain the little mice from the Abwehr we find scurrying around our headquarters."
The second glass of whisky forced on to Rerugen started to make more sense.
"The Abwehr is politically independent of the General Staff and the Imperial High Command, although it does follow directives decided upon. Vice Admiral Canaris prefers it that way. The occasional controversy put to the side; they often get the results ask of them."
"So, someone asked to "get results" from us?" General Stuart raised a brow, backing Rerugen into a metaphorical corner.
"I wouldn't know personally."
"I hope the suspicions are not widespread about us. I wouldn't want to see our friendship deteriorate."
Rerugen noticed a radio operator across the room wave over a superior, then that man calling over his superior. The activity gradually became more agitated while General Stuart talked about the political nuances of maintaining the alliance. The gloat was cut off by an attendant running to his side.
"General."
"What is it?" The Albion drily replied, disinterested momentarily.
"Urgent report from the front, sir."
"The Lieutenant Colonel can be trusted, we're allies." General Stuart looked across the table to smile. A proud look on his face reinforced his previous point. "See, friends."
It was odd to admit, an increment of respect grew within him.
The look of pride dissipated as the attendant clarified the situation.
"The Republican forces have deployed gas and are attacking the front, sir."
"Preposterous!" Rerugen spoke out. General Stuart remained silent with a shrinking posture. Chemical weapons, it violated several treaties from this century alone. He pressed for information in place of the proper commander.
"What is the status of the affected units?"
"The line is currently holding. One battalion has counter-charged and pushed into the Republican lines. Rear line units have already committed."
"Put all units on alert for immediate engagement and get Curry in here." General Stuart ordered without his showmanship, sending the attendant on as he called out to the radio operators to confirm the position of their most forward unit.
"Get that battalion on the radio for status, they talk to us first and everyone else second. Then get all available mages in the air to shadow our infantry."
The men confirmed the order to immediately carry it out. The royal spent a moment in private to consume his glass and curse the name "Gabriel" under his breath. Stress filled eyes returned to the Imperial after the panic was put aside. "I wouldn't mind the extra hands if you're interested."
"I need to notify my superiors then I will come back."
"Thank you." General Stuart grumbled, taking the other glass of whisky, and swallowing it whole. "We see this through, and the bottle is yours to take home."
09/11/1924/ Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Temporary Commonwealth Forward Headquarters, Former Francois Artillery Depot / 14:47
Gabriel looked up as several allied biplanes flew overhead. It would appear headquarters sent them reinforcements in time for the battle.
He loaded the final bullet into his revolver, reattaching the barrel and cylinder to the break-action weapon. It was mildly difficult to get the weapon open, but the challenge ceased once that was achieved. If he wedged the Webley in-between his left forearm and his leg he could clamp it down and load it back up to six shots. It would be an effortless task if his fingers and the world stopped moving on their own. Regardless, he loaded the gun despite the continuous spinning.
It hurt slightly to move his left arm like that, but he had to manage it. When they reached the new line dug into the hillside he accidentally hit the arm against the concrete wall. A white flash erupted across his vision, he could no longer breathe and he woke up several minutes later leaning against the wall with saliva coming from his mouth. He thought he was somewhere different since the infantry took off their gas masks. After that, it was simply a matter of caution. He would not allow himself to be prevented from doing his duty to God and the Commonwealth by anything at that moment.
The Franks were in disarray. Scattered away and disorganized after their cowardly attempt to drown the Commonwealth. Fallen back to their artillery along the ridgeline, foolish enough to put their faith in the size of those ailing machines. Once they were given the order they would pounce on what was left of the ravaged army, that was why he needed the bullets.
Gabriel wanted to go now. Why must they wait to rip apart the enemy for their crimes against the civilized world? His hunger for what he knew to be righteous was unsated.
He needed to help rid the world of those who cast plagues in place of their Heavenly Father. They pretended to be God; ignorant they were the Pharaoh.
His arm would hurt too much if he used the rifle, and it was too long to use as a club. That was why it was on his back and the hatchet was on his belt.
Gabriel put the revolver back in its holster, ready for use when they went over. He was uncertain how, but he found himself sitting outside what might have been a pillbox; the boxes of miscellaneous supplies and concrete walls were the only clues he could pick out. Medics ran around attending to sedentary infantry and officers ran in and out of the bunker, most likely a new command post.
Maybe he tried to get into the headquarters and was kicked out. Gabriel thought that made sense, mages were not widely beloved among the regular army and his poor credentials would offer no advantages.
There were other soldiers around him was making a noise, sounding distant despite the proximity. Gabriel concludes they had to be whispering to each other, unusual but he was not in a position to judge. Miss Ketchener always told him not to eavesdrop.
A man came out from the pillbox and stood before him, at attention in parade formation for some reason.
"Your Highness. Sergeant major Hyll, 23rd Aquilonain mounted rifle, sir."
"Mounted infantry in a trench, sir?" Gabriel shivered involuntarily; he blamed the changing seasons. He would have noticed horses or bicycles before the attack, he was not blind.
"The horses are held in the rear I'm afraid. Kept on standby or made into workers. Some of them caught up to us when we reached the ridge. Didn't you notice, sir?"
Gabriel wondered why this moustached man was looking at him, or why he was nudging his shoulder. Did he do something wrong? Or was he in the way of something and being asked to move. What could he be in the way of?
"Yes, sergeant major." Gabriel tried to stand up to meet the man, becoming dizzy and falling back onto the crate. The sergeant grabbed him, lowering himself down to Gabriel's eye level. Gabriel was dazed, curious why someone was touching him.
"Do, do you want a bandage for that sir?" He spoke softly, pointing at something, Gabriel started at the fingernail and followed the imaginary line to its destination. His arm, the left one, the one with the hole in it and all the blood coming out. He moved it against his abdomen for safekeeping.
"Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." Gabriel felt his mind stop spinning when he thought of God. How reassuring was it, they were immortal in the grand design. Dust returned to dust, but the soul would stay, saved for an eternity in paradise. He could hardly wait to die. Gabriel's smile increased further the more he thought about their Father. It was unpleasant work but if it served God then it was a glorious task to endure.
The sergeant-major averted his gaze to look pained for a moment, he moved his mouth without saying any words. Maybe he was trying to communicate by unusual means. Why could no one talk normally? The gas must have done something to them.
Gabriel stared at the face, he had a moustache like Major Hanover, he was not blonde like him and perhaps a decade younger, meaning this was not the real Major Hanover. Then who was he looking at if it was not Major Hanover, they fought together for years, who was this new man?
The fake Major Hanover nodded his head up and down, pointing at his arm again. Gabriel copied the motion with his head, offering it out when the man motioned him to.
"You did a good job getting us here sir. We couldn't have done it without you." Maybe it was Major Hanover, he was calm, and comforting like him. Did the major always have an Aquilonain accent?
"I could have done more, sir." Gabriel knew his statement was true. If he had taken care of the mortars in a more efficient fashion then none of them would be here, many of those dead would not be such and they would have the gift of life for one more day.
The man's hand, the sergeant major's hand, was boiling to the touch. It made Gabriel's entire body feel frozen in comparison. The man must be suffering from a monstrous fever of some kind. Did the New Plague make a comeback? If it did a sick man was about to unknowingly spread it to him. Life was not luxury but that did not mean Gabriel wanted to die to that disease of all things. He tried to pull away, but the sergeant major ordered him to stop, refusing to let go of the outstretched limb.
"Just the one wound then." Gabriel raised his other hand that held onto the knife, it still twitched on its own directive even as the man covered it in a layer of bandages. Then peeling back, the sleeve that dripped sticky blood. "Now, how about I take a look at the other one, sir?"
Gabriel looked at the wretched state of his arm. What was not covered by the rolled-up sleeve neared paper white while blood drained from the hole in his hand. The bullet had to still be in there, if that was good or not could be recalled. He tried to make a fist, but the fingers were only able to twitch on their own accord. What happened to him? It was normal this morning when he was with Peggie. Then they went to observe at the front, the gas attack, it all started to trickle back. He had been shot by someone, then he caved their head in with his new hatchet.
"Good riddance."
"What was that sir?" The sergeant-major was pouring ice-cold water from a canteen onto his arm. Some of the blood washed away at the cost of making Gabriel shiver. He could hear his teeth chatter and was certain the sergeant major could too.
Why was he smiling so much? It made his mouth hurt. His arm was starting to hurt too. It had been sore for a while, each passing minute that pain evolved to the point Gabriel felt his heartbeat behind his eyes.
It took tremendous effort to not tear up or wince at every provocation. He had to be strong, he had to behave like the prince he was supposed to be.
Another person came running up behind the sergeant major, both men stood and talked about something in an exacerbated tone. Miss Ketchener's words played through his head, other relevant ones pertaining to his arm etched their way in. That woman was going to kill him when she found out he had been shot. His nephew would be inconsolable for a day or more. Immediately predicting the worst and refusing to accept any proof as legitimate until his old governess talked sense into him.
"Lieutenant Stuart." The voice of the real Britannic Major stood above him. Dawned in the red coat and mage suit expected of mages. He must have chosen to attack from the ground with the infantry. Gabriel tried to stand again and failed in the same manner, held down by both men who insisted standing was not necessary. Hanover crouched to examine and apply healing mana to the wound. Gabriel's breathing rapidly spiked and
"I'm afraid you'll need some advance treatment for this Rupert. Surgery and clamps at least, we might need to amputate if we don't get you to a doctor soon lad." Gabriel tried to apologise for his mistake but was rebuffed by the kind tone of the major hushing him. "It's alright, we'll get this sorted out."
"Major Hanover. I cannot go back yet."
"Why is that Rupert?"
"There is still a battle out there. We need to go after the last of them?" Gabriel had to focus on his answer, the reason he had slipped from his mind halfway through the sentence.
"What do you mean, lad?" Major Hanover looked back to the sergeant major, that man possessing no ability to decode the message either.
"Their artillery on the ridge. We need to push our advantage while we have momentum."
"Mr. Stuart. We...we have taken the ridge lad. We've been ordered to hold this position until reinforcements arrive."
Gabriel tried to think about what happened after he got the hatchet. Major Hanover was not making any sense. They were in a trench, then planes came, and they all charged over the top again. Once more onto the breach. There were mages in the sky too. Could it have been Peggie? No, she was still at what he assumes would now be called the old frontline.
"Peggie, sir, she is still at the old line." The Major cut him off before he could be worked up into chaotic emotions.
"The reinforcements are in the area lad; they'll find her, and they'll take care of her. You need to worry about yourself for a little bit now. You've lost quite a bit of blood."
More words were favoured around him, spoken at and around Gabriel. He should have listened in but that task was impossible with a final unaddressed outcome hanging over his head. All other scraps of information had been collected, Peggie was safe, the battle was apparently over, help was on the way, one more remained.
"Major?"
"Yes, lad?"
"Did we win?"
The two adults looked at each other, Hanover smiled in the same way he had for the past three years when he heard good news.
"It might be a bit early, but it can still be safely said. Yes, Mr. Stuart. I think we did win today."
Dejected, Gabriel repeated a sentiment that went through his mind. "Praised be God, and not our strength, for it."
Gabriel should have felt happy at that revelation, instead, it made him feel vacant. His back hit the bunker wall; all energy conserved for the charge had evaporated. If his superiors would not let him stand then it would be permissible to relax slightly.
They had done more than was expected of them. All the effort and lives expended and barely made a dent on the map. A strategic artillery ridge and some muddy Germanic fields, they had won without achieving anything of lasting significance. It was as Major Degurechaff, and Lieutenant Serebryakov had warned him. No wonder Tanya doubted he could attain anything.
Peggie was safe, the day was won, and they were one step closer to Albion. It still was not enough, Gabriel hungered for more.
Major Hanover told Gabriel not to close his eyes. The numbing sensation from the medical attention was overpowering, it begged him to lay down and try for sleep. If the battle was classified as completed then his presence could be excused for an hour at most.
Gabriel wanted to think about his governess and little George for a little while.
09/11/1924/ Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / Kraggana Supply Depot, Converted Mess Hall / 19:40
Tanya thought this was an instance of an ideal day of warfare.
Up early on patrols over Norden, a break and light paperwork at noon, then a final flight for the day before dinner. There was only one combat experience as they shadowed the withdrawing Entente army, that waste of time struck Neumann's company. Now she could eat what had been cooked for the 203rd at the locally assigned mess hall, then go to bed early.
Minimal hazardous work, no direct risks, her human resources fighting on her behalf and a hot meal. It was a celebration for a perfect day: one with fulfilling work.
Back to eating in high school styled arrangements, the officers assigned their own table in the spirit of privacy. She would prefer their own room, but they had to make do with what they had. A time would come when she would have permanent quarters and this posting was a distant memory.
Weiss led a discussion while he indulged in the wine she exaggerated the price of. Only herself and Visha remained free of the soured grapes. Unfortunately, her plan of being offered a glass by her merry men had frizzled out. No one seemed to consider it an option and she knew it would be too demeaning to beg for one.
She would blame Being X but she didn't want to spoil her mood.
It was better to listen to Weiss talk about a girl he had flirted with him back in Dacia. In this world, the last one and no doubt the next, men were all the same. Predictable.
"You better not tell Princess Regina about that." Koenig topped off Weiss' story to the roaring mild interest of the officer's table.
"Why's that?"
"Come on," Neumann cut in. "Didn't you see her look at you back in Rome? Like a dog in-"
"That's enough gentlemen." Tanya cut in before the conversation became too distasteful, reminding the table of her presence and resuming control in the same motion.
"By the way, Lieutenant Serebryakov." If they wanted to talk so much, it was best to make it a topic that would not ruin one's appetite. Instead building off a detail she noticed yesterday. The benevolent commander was one that appeared to be interested in the lives of their subordinates.
"I noticed your new necklace. I hope you didn't take to looting the dead."
"Only for information and spare ammo, ma'am." Visha extracted a light chuckle from the table, including Tanya.
"Good answer, Serebryakov."
It irritated Tanya that she missed a detail on her most subservient Lieutenant. Tanya took a bite of her potatoes while Visha held up her coin-sized object and told of its origins.
"Actually, it's a gift from my family. They got it for me when I was conscripted. I usually just kept it in my pocket until now."
"What is it?" Grantz looked over at the girl sitting beside him, positioning his head to find the best angle to view it. Visha noticed the blond and let the pendulum hang by its chain, not relinquishing possession of the item to another.
"A Chi Rho."
"Ave Constantine." Koenig chimed in after a bite from his food.
"What made you change your mind?" Tanya was moderately curious despite the religious implications. If it had sentimental value, why would one risk it around one's neck where it could break off and fly down to disappear to gravity.
"Well." Visha squeezed her hand around the item, extracting imagined emotions from the metal. "Mr. Stuart pointed out that its purpose is to be worn. It's what my parents would want me to use it for in the first place."
"Mr. Stuart?" Tanya raised a brow, extracting humour from the table yet again. Visha started to fret, fumbling with her trinket.
It was of little consequence if His Highness was friendly with her underlings, better Visha than that rule-breaking brat who stuck to the royal. The adjutant could be trusted to stay out of trouble and let the inevitable promotion was hers.
It might be useful in the long term, a security measure, lest Gabriel's religious rhetoric drive her to pine after the wine denied to her. Let the half Muscovian listen to the ancient pyramid scheme, the symbol she hung from her neck proved she was gullible enough.
Weiss mumbled to himself while Tanya contemplated the recent Stuart development. Then holding a whispered conversation among the other men apart from Grantz who listened to Visha's boasting about the necklaces "real gold."
"Chi-Rho?" "I'm not sure." "Not a bad start is it?" Weiss, Neumann and Koenig bounced half-sentences and Latin between each other.
"Weiss?" Tanya made the three heads turn to her and received an unwanted response.
"Chi-Rho. It's not a half-bad battle cry, is it Major?"
"That sentiment implicates its only half good."
"That's still better than what our last ideas were. You said it yourself, Major."
Is that what these idiotic happy faces took away from her reprimanding after they defended the supply depot? To improve fully would be to cease completely, the last thing she wanted was nominal approval to the practice.
Neumann suggested they ask the neighbouring tables of enlisted mages what they thought of the ludicrous idea. Sending them of before Tanya registered their absence. The cheers she heard was far from a positive sign. It was not her fault that these weaker minds were so easily persuaded to ill conceived ideas. naturally, it was that flaw that made them so susceptible to the influences of that fake deity.
"Curse you Being X."
"Pardon me, ma'am?"
Tanya bit her tongue, she had to be more careful. If she started to explain herself it would result in a new posting to the mental ward. No one could know of her hatred for God, a certain prince first and foremost. The men around her a close second, she doubted they would be as willing to die for a supposed heretic.
"I was thinking about His Highness. He would probably get some enjoyment out of the Commander's silly idea."
"Most likely." Grantz chimed in as Visha returned the initials of Christ to her neck.
"You two should know. Major Hanover told me you three all went to a bar down in Dacia."
The pair fell silent immediately. Proving minimal answers on the subject to slowly chip away at their dinners.
Gabriel must have been a sore spot for them in that context. The conduct of societal elites to commoners did come with its stereotypes. Building off that was the double effect of a royal and superior officer being overbearing in any context. It was to Visha's credit she sacrificed her night out for her failed attempt at befriending the Albion major. She would have to reward her adjacent for her services, it was in the best interest of a leader to instil loyalty in them.
That misery of her officers transmitted to her as the biblical chant spread across the battalion with sweeping approval. To think she thought this would be a pleasant day. Tanya reserved herself to swallow her pride and better senses along with her food. Gabriel had better be having a better day than she was now.
A/N:
[Inevitable comment about WH40K or Sabaton here]
I only know the song and nothing about the former so please don't go through it looking for references.
This has been something I wanted to write for a long time and I am pleased with the final result.
To clarify for those who have commented on the subject previously, Gabriel isn't going insane in the end of the chapter. Confusion is a side-effect of blood loss; it varies wildly but I did play it up slightly from what I read up on. Although there is no universal standard so perhaps it all worked out in the end. Regardless, Gabriel is not crazy, just tired.
To address a criticism, I have seen about this story regarding characters treating Tanya too much like a kid. I agree. But from what I see doing so does not break a president. In the manga the general staff have talked bluntly to her in the manner one would order a child to clean their room. Visha in both the manga and anime has openly criticized, quipped, or pleaded with her major. Weiss even has his odd moment of dry wit reciprocated by Tanya. I try to limit to the same formula to the same characters and ranks.
Since most of this was done intentionally when explicit topics were being presented (Peggie and Rinehart being caught naked, Visha giving Tanya the 'Talk') which would be something a child would not know anything about. Unless I made a mistake there should not be other instances of Tanya being treated as a child, but please correct me if you believe there are other scenes where I did it.
The Albion's are the intentional break to the rule and I admit that. Peggie is probably the worst as she is written to openly challenge and belittle Tanya's command. If that is something you like or not is your deposition and I understand the point regardless.
That said, I do accept I could have done a better job. It is a tool of character conflict in the story I want to exploit but I know there is canon I need to respect.
At the end of the day, no matter how you cut it, Tanya is still a kid. Everyone can believe and recognise her as a child genius (ignorant of the Salaryman) but that does not make her an adult. Suspension of disbelief can vary for everyone, and I admit mine is rather strict. Although, that can't be surprising considering the amount of history I put in to justify present circumstances.
So, Vice Admiral Canaris and the Abwehr. Not technically my character since he is from the Saint of Letzenbourg by Xanen. The character is included for consistency between us for plot holes of us basically shoehorning the two stories into the same world with alternate histories, and the stupid fun of writing.
If you haven't read the Saint yet, I argue it is one of the better stories for Youjo Senki and worth the time commitment. If you know then you know, if you don't then you'll find out.
A friendly reminder of the Deviant art page for the art of the two stories can be found on my profile.
Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoyed it.