. . .
. . .
. . .
The cold concrete floors of a dark, pitch-black room tremble, loud blasts from afar following not soon after. They spur a woman awake and continue to rumble the floor beneath her. Her labored, irregular gasps for air are masked by the harrowing tune of what could be either artillery or cannon fire.
A smile creeps across her face.
'Took you all long enough,' she mutters to no one.
A door swings open, flooding the room with light, revealing the emaciated Lieutenant Amelia H. Watson, bound to a chair and covered head to toe in bruises.
Her stomach grumbles, unsated. Her lips are dry and flaking. Her grin is a mangled sight. The guards, however, look only one bad day away from being just like her.
The door of the room swings open. Cold wintry winds flood the room and make her naked body tremble, but the rough, tightly wound rope digs into her skin, beaten black, blue, and crimson. She winces her one good eye and turns her gaze to the now open door.
There, she sees a gaggle of HaKugrenadiers in full combat gear.
"Get up."
One of the HaKugrenadiers, an officer, spits at her in heavily accented Elysian, "We're moving."
The other HaKugrenadiers untie her and drape her with her old flight jacket. When the Pavolian soldiers draw close, Amelia snarls and bites their hand like a rabid dog.
"Fuck!" the soldier growls as he tears away from her. He slams the butt of his rifle into Ame's wounded rib.
"HAHA— Ack...!" Amelia groans and keels over, robbed of whatever little strength she had left. She's left wheezing on the ground, clutching her stomach as if it were to fall out.
The officer looks down on the battered blonde and sneers. "You know. We were gonna give you back your pants and your shoes, but I don't think you've earned it. On your feet, anjing."
Distant explosions continue to shake the walls around the lieutenant and her captors, creeping ever closer like an approaching torrent. They come close enough to shake the earth and the foundation of where Amelia had been held captive: the grand baseball stadium of Xenokuni City.
Amelia struggles to pick herself up from the floor. Her good eye feeling sore, she blindly feels her way around her surroundings, but makes the mistake of settling her hands on a rifle of one of the guards. They yank their weapon away from her and kick her down with their jackboot.
Amelia now only barely even tastes the blood in her own mouth.
The officer grabs Amelia by the jacket and forces her up to her feet. Amelia stumbles forward, but the officer shoves her and spurs her on. Her teeth chatter from the cold, feeling like they could fall off anytime.
She walks out of the dark, dank room and into the desolate, snow-swept stands of the baseball stadium. The cold pavement stabs at her bare feet, but she presses on. The pathetic slapping of her bloodied soles are drowned out by the marching of jackboots around her.
Amelia limps forward down the staircases of the stands and walks onto what once was the outfield of the stadium. Overgrown grass cushions her weary feet but offers her no protection from the cold. Snow and ash cake the field, with more drifting down from above.
Her back skews sideways as she walks, no matter how hard she tries to stand upright. The pains of Kovalskia's thorough 'searching' still fill her with pain and shame.
Each step she takes is agony. Each breath she takes pierces her lungs. Her one eye, delirious, starts to lose its focus. Her mind longs for the sweet escape of death. But her heart...
"Gur... Ghh..." she croaks weakly. The guards pay her no mind.
Her tired, creaking body reaches the edge of the outfield, where half-tracks of the Pavolian 101st Tank Division sit waiting for her. Half a dozen HaKu III and IV medium tanks flank the half-tracks, spread out with their engines purring aggressively.
The officer who brought her out of her cell breaks rank and marches towards one of the tanks: one of the models that few Elysians could claim to have seen and lived to tell the tale. A state-of-the-art, well-armored tank with a menacing main gun and a powerful engine that growled like a panther.
The HaKu V.
Amelia sees the tankers of the HaKu V salute the officer and welcome him aboard the war machine. Meanwhile, the other HaKugrenadiers drag Amelia away towards the half-tracks.
"Keep moving!" they bark at her, shoving her along.
But not before the HaKu V officer gives his last remarks in a haughty, grandiose voice.
"Rejoice, anjing! You're going to the Blue Throne, our capital city. Kapten Vestia, by the grace and wisdom of our Empress Reine, will have all the time in the world to do as she pleases with you. Otherwise, enjoy the sights; it's a splendid city at night!"
Amelia doesn't say a word as he guffaws at her.
Instead, her eye wanders up to the skies above the stadium. She spots Elysian fighter planes cutting through the heavens, chasing down Pavolian warplanes.
One of the Elysian fighters flies low and buzzes over the oval baseball stadium.
Pavolian machine gun nests scattered throughout the oval-shaped stands of the stadium open fire on the low-flying fighter.
RATATATATATATATAT!
Their shots do not find their mark and the fighter plane zooms past unscathed.
'If only I had been just as lucky...' Amelia laments.
As she does, though, gunfire erupts from the stadium's machine gun nests again. This time, their shots fire low towards the Xenokuni City downtown.
"Tank musuh datang! Tank musuh datang!" HaKugrenadier sentries yell.
'Elysian tanks? This deep in Xenokuni City?' Amelia muses, 'Finally, the cavalry's he—'
KA-BAM! KA-BAM!
High-explosive shells slam into the machine gun nests on the downtown-facing stands and blow them sky-high. The explosions shred the machine gunners apart, leaving mists of red Pavolian blood in their wake.
Rifle shots then start to whiz into the stadium from the downtown side. The cacophony of war crawls upon where Amelia and her captors stand, a symphony she'd longed to hear for herself.
The HaKu V officer shouts and rallies his troops, ordering his men to mount a defense. The guardsmen around the lieutenant drop her and scramble to defend their positions.
Laying on her side, Amelia sees Three HaKu III medium tanks and a handful of the half-tracks sortie first and charge through the grandstand tunnel, but the foremost tanks are shot up with accurate fire until they fall silent, blocking the once wide entrance with burning hulks of metal.
Elysian artillery begins pounding the baseball stadium next, striking the rest of the tanks with frightening accuracy. The tanks and half-tracks scatter, but many do not get far enough.
Another two HaKu III's and a HaKu IV are disabled in the barrage. They are quickly consumed as their stored munitions detonate, cooking their crew alive.
"Get some... Fuckin' get some...!" Amelia grunts as she watches on with morbid amusement.
Hope swells in her despairing heart for the first time in days. She takes a deep, piercingly cold breath and rushes away from the commotion. Amelia runs through the smokescreen of the falling bombs and skitters up the staircase to her makeshift prison cell.
There, she retrieves the rest of her clothes and takes shelter from the hellfire outside.
She slumps down limply onto a chair and parts the sheets over the windows of her makeshift cell.
From that perch, Amelia prepares herself to witness the grandest game to ever be played in Xenokuni City's grand baseball stadium. She waits for the players in Elysian green, her saviors, to sweep the field and take the bases.
Tired and weary as she is, she likes her chances and quietly prays for a home run.
'...One, two, three strikes you're out,' she weakly hums to herself.
. . .
Radio static crackles in the headsets of several Elysian tankers. They receive the same message.
"Tempest Platoon," a firm voice barks, "we are approaching the objective! We're in a hot zone now, so button up. Over."
Outside the stadium, five Elysian M3 Stuart tanks advance in line towards the Xenokuni City baseball stadium. Leading their formation is an M3 Stuart. Painted on its barrel is its identifier.
Tempest.
Sergeant Altare Regis calmly peers out its cupola amidst Pavolian fire, eyeing the war-torn landscape of the streets leading towards the Xenokunian stadium. Bullets whirr and zip past him, but at the moment, he's not even fazed.
'Objective should be a block or so away. Fénix better be right about this.'
Behind them, troopers of Elysian Correctional Infantry, CI's from Ollie's forces, and fighters of the Xenokunian resistance hastily march and follow the armored column. Among them is the fiery-haired Fénix, proudly leading her detachment of Xenokunian Resistance fighters.
"¡Vamonos! ¡Vamonos!" orders Fénix, spurring her soldiers onwards.
The tanks shield the infantry from the withering machine gun fire that pepper the formation. The combined Elysian-Xenokunian force weathers through.
"Gunner!" Altare shouts. "Do you see those M.G. nests!?"
"Aye, sir!" Axel responds.
"I don't want to."
The Stuart tanks answer with volleys of high-explosive shells, dissipating the machine gun nests along the way.
Artillery shells start whistling from the skies, slamming onto the streets and nearby buildings without discrimination, and silencing even more of the emplacements atop emptied homes and shops.
When the heat dies down, Altare loosens his grip on his tank's cupola, his knuckles still white. He reaches for his radio once more, dialing into a different frequency.
"...Charon Company Leader, this is Tempest Platoon leader," Altare reports, shouting over the roar of his tank's engine, "I have visual confirmation. Bombardment is on target. Over."
"Understood, Tempest. Be advised - Company Leader needs fire support in the city center for a breakthrough. The Regular Army Shermans will need our help too at the 'front door' before long," Captain Mori answers over the radio. "Call in your last targets. We'll fire one last barrage, then we'll reprioritize. Over."
"Just fire for effect, Charon Company Leader - and steer clear of the red-zone that Miss Fénix marked out. We have 'em where we want 'em. Over and out." Altare replies.
Just moments later, another barrage of artillery shells rains down upon the baseball stadium, shells lodging themselves within the building's outer concrete walls before bursting with great force. The last of the machine gun nests along the outer perimeter are silenced in the aftermath.
"...And there goes our fire support," Altare mumbles to himself as he wipes sweat from his brow.
NYAAUM! NYAAAUM!
Before he can heave a sigh, though, half a dozen Elysian warplanes rumble overhead and catch Altare's attention. He watches them skirmish with just as many Pavolian planes as clouds of black flak fill the skies.
"We don't have air superiority yet..." Altare clicks his tongue.
Confusion breaches his psyche as the Elysian fighters above suddenly break formation and scramble away from Xenokuni City.
"What in the goddamn...?" Altare curses.
Altare's radio buzzes to life again as he listens in on company frequency.
"Company Leader. Tempest, this is Lieutenant Gawr, do you copy? Over." Lt. Gawr Gura's voice crackles through the radio.
"Loud and clear, Lieutenant," Ollie replies over the radio, "What do you need? Over."
"Copy, Lieutenant. Copy, Company Leader. Over." Altare adds, but he kept his eyes up at the retreating Elysian fighter planes.
"Be advised. Elysium does not have air superiority in Xenokuni City. I've coordinated with the Army Air Corps, but the bulk of our fighters are still en route from the exclave," Gura reports grimly. "Right now, from the radio chatter, I'd say we're locally outnumbered in the skies two-to-one. Over."
"That bad, huh? Over." Altare clicks his tongue.
"It gets worse. Elysian HQ bypassed me and ordered the Mustangs we have on hand to consolidate and support the main invasion force and their Shermans," Gura explains with frustration. "They said the flak in the city was too heavy as well. Needed to pull out. Over."
"Fucking excuses," Ollie hisses. "We need that air cover! They're turning tail on an assault NOW?!"
"Lieutenant Colonel Hakos seconded the consolidation order, unfortunately. The Colonel leading the Battalion concurred too, so we lost the vote," Gura adds, "so the PCAPs Strike Team will lose their air cover the moment our Mustangs pull out. Over."
"They're already pulling out, Lieutenant. I'm watchin' our birds bail out. Over," Altare reports.
"Then, watch out for Pavie Stukas," Gura advises. "Those dive bombers are out in force today. Over."
"Fuck's sake... We'll do what we can, Lieutenant. Over and out." Ollie ends the transmission, but keeps the line open for Altare.
"You heard her, sergeant. Keep your tanks in loose formation; do NOT bunch up. Get your platoon's commanders ready for anti-aircraft combat, and I'll do the same. Over and out."
"Roger that, Company Leader. Over and out," Altare acknowledges. He holds onto his mounted machine gun, pointing it skywards.
"First time for everything."
Right on cue, Altare hears the rumble of low flying planes drawing close. He brings out his binoculars and spots royal blue Stukas blaring just within earshot and closing.
Three of them.
Altare turns around and barks, "Three Pavie dive bombers inbound, 12 and 1 o'clock! Commanders, maintain loose formation and man your .30 cals!"
The five Stuarts of Tempest Platoon start to fan out. Their tank commanders of the Tempest Platoon emerge from their cupolas and train their .30 cal machine guns to the intensifying scream of the Stukas' Jericho Trumpets. Axel, meanwhile, turns the traverse crack and points their turret towards the approaching Stukas.
The Stuart commanders, together with Altare, turn their guns to the approaching Stukas and open fire.
RATATATATATATATA!
The five-gun automatic symphony shoots down the foremost Stuka and damages a second. The third Stuka, however, glides past the hail of gunfire and proceeds with its dive. Its ominous sirens blare even louder as it descends upon the formation.
WREEEEEEEEEEE!
"SH-SHIT...!" Altare bites. Chills run up his spine as he realizes the imminent danger. The Elysian troops and the Xenokunian fighters behind them break off and take cover.
He trains his machine gun at the diving bomber and grips his MG's trigger until his fingers threaten to cramp up on the spot.
RATATATATATATA — CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
His gun, empty, stops firing.
Altare gasps a silent breath.
The Stuka keeps diving, its Trumpets screaming, screaming, screaming...
But its bombs don't fall.
For a hair of a second, Altare spots a bloodied crack in the glass of the Stuka's cockpit. The Pavolian warplane doesn't pull up, zips over the Tempest and crashes into a nearby building and—
BOOM! ... KRA-KOOM!
Altare stumbles inside the turret of his tank, the blast outside shaking the steel of his steel beast. He clutches the fabric of his scarf in his gloved hand and feels his heart beating hard against his chest. His ears ring, but he's somewhat sure he's groaning from the shock.
"...ir... Sir...! We're not dead yet, sir," Vesper calls from inside the tank, looking up at the man huddled in the turret, then to the others up there as well. The adjutant gives him a thumbs up.
"Great shooting, but there better be more where that came from, sir. We're not done, yet."
Altare turns to his side and sees the other crew members holding him up and patting his shoulders. "Hear, hear!" Axel and Magni agree, holding up their fists in jubilation before Altare.
Altare musters a chuckle and grins, before he pops out of his cupola once more. He sees those attached to his platoon recovering from the attack, the fiery-haired fighter among them. While eyeing the skies, he addresses his crew, satisfied.
"...There's gonna be more Stukas out there on the prowl. We can't stay out in the open like this much longer, boys and girls."
He turns around to the scattered infantry behind them and calls, "Miss Fénix!"
Fénix readily hurries over to the Tempest. Before the platoon leader, she speaks up.
"Si, Señor. What do you need?"
"We're gonna have to press onward into the baseball stadium. My tanks are going in first, but then we'll need our infantry and your fighters to secure our flanks."
"Understood! We'll back your boys up," Fenix nods.
Altare nods back and picks up his radio.
"Tempest Platoon, this is Tempest Leader. Resume the attack! Capture the stadium grandstand and avoid Pavolian Stukas. Weapons hot; we're going in, so give 'em hell! Over and out."
With that, the five Stuart tanks resume formation and continue their advance towards the baseball stadium. Fénix, Elysian infantry, and the Xenokunians follow not far behind, marching alongside Elysian armor.
. . .
The Stuart tanks advance towards the stadium practically unopposed. Spirits run high amongst the Xenokunians who, encouraged and recovered, pick up the pace and hurry ahead of the tanks, to Altare's chagrin.
"Hey! Stay in formation," the sergeant tries to warn them, but the more stubborn partisans brandish their rifles and their molotov cocktails confidently.
Fénix repeats Altare's warnings in Xenokunian, but the pumped-up partisans keep going. By then, half a dozen men break into sprints and charge ahead of everyone else, out of sight.
"... TANQUES, TANQUES, ¡DISPERSAAAR!"
Suddenly, from the darkness of the grandstand's arched entrances, three Pavolian HaKu III medium tanks emerge. The overconfident partisans scramble away from the barrels of the enemy cannons and machine guns. Screams and curses fly out of their mouths as they scatter panickedly.
However, with no remorse, the Pavolian tanks mow them down with lead, fire spewing from their hulls and turrets.
RATATATATATATA!
The partisans that stayed behind link up with the Elysian infantry and huddle behind the Stuarts.
Altare grabs his radio and roars, "ENEMY TANKS, TWELVE O' CLOCK! FIRE AT WILL, FIRE AT WILL!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM !
The five Stuarts fire on the move, but their shots fly wide and strike the stadium facade. On the other hand, the three HaKu III's stop and take potshots at the advancing Stuarts.
Pavolian shots miss the Stuarts too, but by thinner margins. Their shells even fly dangerously close to Tempest, Altare catching the whirr of a 50-millimeter shell zooming past his tank. At the same time, their machine guns pepper the Stuarts mercilessly.
RATATATATATATA!
"BUTTON UP, BUTTON UP!" Altare cries into his radio.
"Keep shooting and close the distance! Stop moving and you're DEAD!"
Altare and the tank commanders tuck in and roll out, but one of the Stuart tank's commanders takes a shot to the head. Altare peeks through the slits on his cupola and sees the unfortunate commander's body pathetically slump over his mounted machine gun.
The HaKu III's start aiming for that now leaderless Stuart and strike it down. First, they shoot out its tracks and halt the beast. Then, 50mm shells slam into its thin armor and set the whole machine ablaze, cooking its ammunition out.
"Fuckin' hell— GET MORE SHOTS ON TARGET! FIRE!" Altare barks on the radio. Peering through his vision ports, he sees HaKu barrels train on his allies. The infantry and resistance fighters behind them, Altare imagines, aren't having it all that easy either, having no surefire anti-tank measures to help them and they're too far away to throw their molotovs.
"Section A, take the left tank. Section B, take the right! Over!" He then turns to Axel beside him and urges, "Center one's yours, Axel!"
"Showtime, then!" Axel takes a deep breath and looks down the rangefinder.
Axel watches the reticle tumble up and down as the Tempest rumbles through the cobblestone streets. Focused, he matches the unnatural rhythm with his aim. He steadies his breath and eyes the HaKu III in his sights like a South Elysian hunter in the outback stalking their game.
He aims for the viewport of the HaKu III's driver and briefly spots the ammunition rack behind it.
Finally, he pulls the trigger and cries—
"ON THE WAY!"
KA-BAM!
Axel's shot is sent hurtling towards Pavolian armor. It pierces through the viewport with little resistance, carving a 37 millimeter hole into the enemy driver's skull, and then—
KA-BOOOOM!
The HaKu III's turret ports and turret ring erupt with scorching flames. Its turret, seconds later, shoots off its hull like a cork from a Pavolian champagne bottle.
The Tempest joins the rest of the Stuarts who start finding their marks as well. Together, they strike down the other HaKu III's and mow down the tankers trying to escape their wrecks with machine gun fire.
"...Perimeter secured! Over..." Altare reports over the radio. He glances at the wreck of the Stuart tank he lost, but just shakes his head and continues.
"Press the attack! Everyone, into the building! The sooner we capture the stadium, the sooner we can rejoin the main force!"
At his command, the four remaining Stuart tanks press on into the baseball stadium. They squeeze through the tunnel, scraping past the hulls of the defeated and wrecked HaKu III's.
Thick, black smoke billowing from the burning HaKu III's fills the tunnel, making Altare wince. He covers his nose and mouth with his scarf and shields himself from the pungent soot.
When they get past the tunnel, they leave the wall of smoke behind. The silhouettes of more Pavolian tanks, however, also come into view.
Altare coughs and grabs his radio, "HOLY SHI— PAVOLIAN ARMOR ON THE FIELD! FAN OUT AND TAKE COVER! KEEP MOVING, KEEP MOVING!"
The Stuart tanks rush through the smoky grandstand tunnel and break off. As soon as they do, though, the Pavolian tanks open fire, one after another.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The Tempest veers to the right towards concrete dugouts, dodging Pavolian shells left and right. Another Stuart behind it does the same but veers left towards a walled concession stand.
A third Stuart clears the tunnel and tries to follow the Tempest, but the Pavolian tanks wallop it with high caliber shells and rip it mercilessly apart. It joins the Pavolian wrecks by the entryway, now covered in flames and smoke.
"Tempest Platoon, report in! Over," Altare cries out on the radio.
"Section A leader! Hunkered down behind a concession stand!" one commander reports.
"Th-This is Secion B leader!" a second commander adds. "I'm still in the tunnel! The smoke's too thick, sir - and the shots won't stop coming!"
From the fourth Stuart, however, harrowing cries for help reach Altare's ears.
"MOTHER KANATA, HELP ME! IT BURNS... IT BURNS!"
The cries fall silent, piercing Altare's heart with pangs of pain.
"S-Sir, we-we're not gonna make it out of this tunnel!" The second commander starts to panic, "We'll pull back!"
The Stuart tank's gears shift loudly in the tunnel and its engines whirr with great labor.
"No, Section B leader - keep moving forward!" Altare commands, "You're a sitting duck in that tunnel. You won't have time to reverse!"
"But sir, we...!"
A powerful gun rumbles in the distance.
KA-THOOM!
A high-caliber shot pierces through the smoke, followed by an explosion.
BOOOOOM!
"Section B leader! Come in!" Altare calls.
There is no response.
"What the FUCK was that?!" Axel cries. "I heard that all the way down here!"
"It's one of the Pavies' big boys," Magni bites, teeth grinding. "Probably an eighty-eight!"
"A fucking flak gun?! Here?!" Axel shouts out and turns to Altare, "That's a fucking CAN OPENER, chief! Even the Shermans get turned inside out from 'em!"
Altare pokes his head out of the cupola and scans the dugout.
"We'll be safe as long as we stick to cover," Altare reassures, "but we don't have eyes..."
"And those fucking Pavies might wisen up and decide to flush us out." Axel shakes his head.
He turns the crank of the turret and points the main gun towards the mouth of the dugout. Axel grips the handles of the main gun tightly.
"Only one way in here." Axel declares, "I'll take out as many as I can, but don't hold your breath. I'm running out of miracles."
Moments pass, but the Pavolian tanks do not advance.
"What the... No one's coming?" Axel blinks. He looks down the rangefinder and finds nothing to shoot.
"The smokescreen probably masked our tanks when we zipped out the tunnel," Altare assesses. "They don't know what tanks we have, nor how many we have left."
"But we don't know what they have either," Vesper pipes up. "It's a stalemate, Leader, but only as long as the smoke doesn't clear. It's a short window we have. We're gonna have to break it one way or another very soon...!"
"I know, but h-how...?!" The cogs in Altare's brain fly at top speed as if their lives counted on them – and, right now, they did.
Vesper and Axel fall silent and quietly consider their options. But then, Magni breaks the silence. He points to Axel and suggests, "Soldier boy here was infantry before joining us, right? What if he scouts for us?"
"Wh-Wha?!" Axel gasps in vehement protest. He grabs Magni by the collar of his uniform and hisses, "Oy, ya cheeky cunt! You just want to get me killed!"
"N-No, I don't!" Magni insists. "Think about it! Runners like you make good scouts!"
He then pats the breech of the Stuart's main gun and adds, "And it's not like you have any targets to shoot with this bad boy."
Axel shakes his head and turns to Altare, "Oy, Leader. What do you make of this crap that this cunt's spoutin'?"
Altare pauses, looking at Axel, Magni and Vesper. Then, he faces Axel and decides, "I think it's worth a shot. You're the man for the job, PFC Syrios. Take a walkie-talkie, link up with Miss Fénix and our troops outside, and report the situation back to us."
"But the gun...!" Axel tries to argue.
"I can use the tank gun if it comes down to that." Altare reassures him. "Please consider Magni's plan, Axel."
"I concur," Vesper nods.
"Not you too, Vesper!" Axel bares his teeth, "You're still angry at me for what happened at the Manor House, aren't you?!"
"No, I'm not mad. The logic is sound given our situation. That's all."
Vesper stands his ground. He takes a Garand rifle from the floor of the tank and hands it to Axel, "Right now, you're our best hope. If I truly hated you, I wouldn't put my life in your hands."
Axel's face contorts softly.
"Yeah, yeah!" Magni adds, "I wouldn't want ya dead. Who else would I argue with in this tin can, huh?"
Axel's face contorts sharply.
"...Alright. I'll do it," Axel scoffs. He lowers his head and concedes.
He takes the Garand rifle from Vesper, grabs a few clips of ammunition from Magni, and then grabs the walkie-talkie from Altare.
"Good luck, Axel," Altare reassures the young man. "We're counting on you."
...
PFC Axel Syrios straps the walkie-talkie to his belt and clutches his M1 Garand rifle firmly in his hands. He crouches down beneath the walls of the dugout and sneaks back into the smoke billowing from the arched tunnel.
'Fuck me, that's rancid. All that ammo and crap in there, it'll probably be burning for awhile...' the private tells himself.
He sprints from cover to cover, hiding behind collapsed concrete columns and the burning hulls of one of their lost Stuart tanks.
From there, Axel glances at the outfield and eyes the enemy forces. He takes out his walkie-talkie.
"Leader, this is Dingo. I see two HaKu III's holding the line at home plate and some HaKugrenadiers prowling the outfield, but there's probably more of them."
Axel presses his back against the wrecked Stuart's hull and reports, "I can't see much 'cause of the smoke. Over."
"Understood, Dingo," Altare answers him. "Can you see the flak gun? Over."
"Not from here, Leader."
Axel squints as hard as he can but shakes his head.
"...No, sir. Can't see shit. Over."
"Understood, carry on then. Over and out."
Axel puts away the walkie-talkie and shoulders his rifle once more.
Crouching out of sight of the Pavolians, he makes his way up to the bleachers of the grandstand. A patrol of HaKugrenadiers prowl with stick grenades in hand and try to sneak up to the Stuart tank behind the concession stand.
Axel points his rifle at the enemy and fires without hesitation.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
His shots fly true and strike down the grenadiers. Their stick grenades fall limply beside them, left undetonated.
Axel notices that he still hadn't alerted the Pavolian armor down below. He thanks his lucky stars and carries on to the edge of the grandstand. Over the ledge, he sees Fénix, the Elysian infantry, and the Xenokunian Resistance stuck below at the opposite side of the smoking tunnel.
"Miss Fénix!" Axel cries with as much discretion as he can muster while amplifying his voice. "Sarge sent me to fetch y'all!"
Fénix waves back to Axel and shouts, "We'd come and join you, but the tunnel's blocked! The other entrances are blocked off and they'd be too heavily guarded!"
"Is there any way you guys can scale the grandstand wall?!"
"There's an emergency exit – a fire escape ladder just south of where you are now!" Fénix replies, pointing to the ladder by the ledge, "Send that ladder down and we'll climb up!"
"Okay, hold on!"
When he turns around, though, another HaKugrenadier makes his rounds through the lower level bleachers with a submachine gun. This time, the Pavolian soldier shoots first and sprays bullets at Axel.
Axel ducks and bullets whiz over him and strike the upholstered grandstand seats instead. He crawls through the soot and waits for the hail of lead to stop.
The moment it does, Axel springs out of cover and blasts the HaKugrenadier.
BANG! BANG!
Both shots find their mark. The HaKugrenadier cries out in pain, drawing even more of his comrades to the bleachers.
"Ran outta luck, damn it...!" Axel curses. He spots the reinforcements scurrying towards him and shoots them dead too.
BANG! BANG–! PING!
An empty clip ejects from Axel's rifle, its ping echoing across the grandstand. One of the grenadiers falls to the ground, but the other starts sprinting up the staircase towards Axel.
Axel grabs a new clip of ammo and tries to slot it into his rifle, but the HaKugrenadier gets to him first.
"Oh, fuck this!" Axel snarls and pounces on the HaKugrenadier.
The enemy soldier tries to point his gun at Axel, but Axel slams the butt of his rifle into the Pavolian soldier's chest, stunning him.
Axel then wields his rifle like a baseball bat and slams it into the soldier's head.
WHAM!
The HaKugrenadier stumbles back groggily and falls off the ledge face-first onto the sidewalk.
Axel looks over the ledge but he promptly pulls away and just shakes his head.
"He popped open like a fucking tomato, shit...!" Axel grunts, pleased with himself.
He finally slots a fresh clip of ammo into his rifle and carries on towards the fire escape ladder. As he does, though, he spots many more HaKugrenadiers rushing to his position from the opposite end of the stadium.
Axel slings his rifle over his shoulder and lowers the fire escape ladder. The rusty mechanism creaks and screeches at first, but Axel puts his back into it and forces the ladder to fall freely.
"C'mon, c'mon!" Axel urges.
The ladder finally deploys, and Fénix clambers up the ladder first with impressive haste. Their reinforcements follow suit not long after.
Axel helps Fénix up and the two of them take position behind the bleacher seats.
"What's the situation, señor?" Fénix asks.
Pavolian shouting and gunfire echoes in the grandstand and bullets start whizzing overhead.
Axel points to the approaching hostiles and laments, "That's our situation, ma'am! Not very good!"
"I can see that...!" the resistance fighter exclaims in surprise and takes cover behind a seat.
"Now, Sarge needs intel on the enemy tanks and the flak gun that the Pavies have in this stadium," Axel explains. He then shows his walkie-talkie device to Fénix and adds, "We have to report everything we see, but not with a whole Pavie army trying to flush us out like this."
The gunfire intensifies.
Fénix dares to peek out again and counts the HaKugrenadiers rushing towards them.
"I see dozens of them, maybe a hundred or more?! When did they get reinforced? That's too many for us to handle on our own!"
"That's the thing, though, ma'am. We're not alone." Axel grins wildly.
He activates his walkie-talkie and calls, "Leader, this is Dingo! We've lured the bulk of the Pavies towards my location! A little help would be nice! Over!"
"Roger that, Dingo," Altare answers. "The Platoon will cover you. Mark the location for us and standby for cover fire."
Axel relays the position of the approaching Pavolians to Altare over the radio. Then, he sees the two Stuart tanks roll out of cover with their cannons pointed towards the grandstand bleachers.
BOOM! BOOM!
High-explosive shells smash into the bulk of the Pavolian troops, shredding them with fire and shrapnel. The coaxial machine guns then start picking off the stragglers.
RATATATATATATA!
Dozens of Pavolians fall, reducing the once fearsome army to a fraction of what it once was. With that, Axel flies out of cover and starts unloading his Garand rifle.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Fénix grabs the Pavolian submachine gun hanging from the ledge and shoots alongside Axel.
RATATAT! RATATAT!
The Elysian infantry and the Resistance fighters who had been climbing up the ledge join them too and sweep up the rest of the Pavolians still standing.
The massive assault, however, had not gone unnoticed by the Pavolian tanks and the still-hidden flak gun. The rest of the hostile armor back up into the center of the field and reveal themselves with their guns pointing at the grandstand bleachers.
Sweat drips down Axel's brow. He turns to the soldiers joining them and cries, "Don't bunch up! Spread out and stay low!"
The Elysians heed Axel's calls immediately, but the Xenokunians are slow to react. Fénix promptly repeats Axel's cries in Xenokunian, but it's already too late.
Pavolian tank cannons fire and blast the bleachers with high-explosives more fearsome and more powerful than what the Stuarts could dish out.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
And then, the sum of their fears – the still-hidden flak cannon – makes its power known too.
KA-THOOOOM!
Coalition troops fall en masse – mostly Xenokunians.
Dust, soot and blood sully Axel's and Fénix's faces.
Axel coughs and wipes his face with his sleeves. He then grabs his walkie-talkie and makes his report.
"Leader... this is Dingo!" Axel croaks, "I spotted more tanks! One more HaKu Three, two more Fours, and a Five! Over!'
"...A Five? As in a HaKu Panther? Here?!" Altare pauses nervously, "A-Are you sure?!"
"THE FAT CAT SPAT H.E. AT ME, SIR, SO I'M PRETTY DAMN SURE!" Axel cries.
"Our 37mm guns won't scratch the paint off something like that, no matter where we shoot it!" Altare warns.
"Yeah," Axel agrees, "and that fucking flak gun's gonna be the death of us!"
"Unless we can silence it... or capture it," Altare counters.
"Capture it? The goddamn thing can shoot almost anywhere in this stadium but we don't even know where the fuck it is!" Axel complains.
He turns to Fénix and asks, "Do you know where that damned gun is, Miss Fenix?"
"I don't..." Fénix answers squarely, "AH! But a friend of mine might! It wasn't here when I last checked, but she has a sharp eye. She was taken into captivity here, I think, so we should be able to find her in the stadium!"
"One helluva gamble for one person..." Altare's voice crackles through the walkie-talkie. "Is she even worth going after right now, Fénix?! We have Pavies knocking on our front door, here!"
Fénix shoots Private Syrios a grin and replies into the radio, "Sergeant, I do this in fulfillment of our deal. This is her. Your lieutenant."
Silence grips the other side of the transmission for a moment, save for the return cannon fire ringing through the other end. A moment later, Altare pipes up, his energy practically shooting out the radio.
"Axel, listen clear: help Miss Fénix rescue Amelia Watson! She's EXACTLY who we came here for, so do NOT fuck this up. Capture that flak gun, kiss the Panther's commander, do WHATEVER — as long as we get Miss Watson outta here ALIVE!"
Caught off-guard by his leader's sudden burst, Axel retorts, "You said do WHAT with a Pavie, sir–"
"JUST GO GIT, AXEL," Altare barks. "We're counting on you. Over and out!"
. . .
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TEMPEST
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