Tiegenhoff offensive VII: Siege lifted

40 Years after the Great War

Londinium

The daring counteroffensive launched by the Imperial forces to relieve the embattled forces trapped in Tiegenhoff is considered one of the great tactical victories of modern times, with some military scholars calling it a textbook example of striking when the enemy is at its weakest. However, all historians agree it was an extremely risky gamble considering how depleted the Imperial lines were along the Eastern front after weeks of Federation attacks, with some calling it downright reckless.

What makes the success of this counterattack all the more impressive is that unlike other great Imperial victories, such as Operation's Revolving Door or Ironhammer, it was launched with almost no foreplanning. Indeed, credit for the implementation of the attack goes to the infamous General Ernst Vogel, then only a colonel, and his mixed unit of Imperial and Letzenbourg forces that pushed deep into Federation-held territory as soon as the opportunity arose, trusting that the Eastern command would move to reinforce him.

This cavalier attitude was a hallmark of Vogel during the Eastern campaign and his leadership of the Letzenbourg forces are often topics of debate. However, the attack was undeniably effective and the exhausted Federation lines soon fell into disarray allowing Imperial forces to rapidly advance upon the surrounded city.

With the enemy hastily approaching, Federation commander General Dimitri Pavliv found himself suddenly in danger of being surrounded and was forced to retreat his forces, effectively ending the siege. Records kindly provided by the Russy government show that the General oversaw the evacuation personally. Staying in his headquarters until the very end and ultimately falling to the approaching Imperials, for which he earned the title Hero of the Russy Federation. – Andrew WTN Special Correspondent.

May 7th Unified Year 1925 19:40

Skies Above Tiegenhoff, Outskirts

Mary was falling again, her body feeling numb and weightless as she tumbled from the sky. She could feel the wind whipping through her hair, yet there was no chill to it. Instead, a warm and welcoming light shone over her, swaddling her like a blanket and shielding her from the cool air while the soft singing of a choir touched her ears.

She could not move, not even to open her eyes but she felt no fear in that moment. Neither did she fear her descent. She wasn't sure why, but even as she felt herself plunging through the air she was certain that she was safe. It seemed as though her very soul was telling her that it was so, and her hazy, fog-filled mind was in no position to argue. All her worries and pains were gone, as was the agonising longing that had so long filled her heart, and for a moment it felt as though she had been transported back to a time before the war. Before the loss of her father.

She could not remember how she had gotten here, nor could she recall what had caused her fall but somehow that didn't seem to matter. Her world was as it should be. Joyous and peaceful.

The heat from the swaddling light seemed to retreat, only to be replaced by a paternal warmth as she felt a strong pair of arms cradle her like a babe. The feeling of safety only grew as familiar odours filled her nostrils; the mixture of boot polish, soap and aftershave, along with a slight musk that no amount of washing or fragrance could fully disguise. It was the smell of a man whom she had known since the day she was born, one whose presence had always brought her comfort. Always made her feel safe.

"Papa?" She whispered, barely able to force the syllables from her lips as she tried to open her eyes, desperate to see him again. She was no longer falling, instead, she was being carried, held tightly by her father as he cradled her and protected her from the outside world.

She could not find the energy to open her weary eyes and her eyelids remained fixed shut, as though held by a heavy weight. Although no longer in free fall, she still had no strength to move and her joints and limbs were beginning to ache as they hung from the comforting arms of her father. She let out a small whimper, wishing she could force herself to open her eyes and embrace her father. It had been so long since she'd seen him, she could barely remember his face; scarcely recall his touch.

A scratching in the back of her hazy mind told her something was not right. New aromas began to reach her nostrils, ones that did not smell like the Papa she remembered: copper, sulphur and gunpowder. She could still feel the wind buffeting her, pulling at her braids, but it wasn't because she was falling she realised, it was because she was flying, and the more she began to awaken from her daze the colder she seemed to become. The paternal warmth no longer protecting her from the cold that crept into her body from both inside and out.

"Shit! Don't try to speak kid. Stay still." The man holding her said softly, sounding distant despite being so close.

Confusion washed over her as her mind processed the voice. It was familiar, but it was not Papa, and a wave of panic struck her as her peaceful and joyous world was quickly swept away, only to be replaced by fear and uncertainty as she tried to understand her situation. Gradually she became aware of her struggled breathing and a wave of agony engulfed her body as her brain was informed of a surfeit of injuries across her stricken form.

"Papa?" She repeated again, pain and fear colouring her voice as she struggled to force out the words, but she knew he would not answer. The familiar ache had returned, the festering wound in her heart caused by his loss.

"Damnit!" The man whispered under his breath, a mix of frustration and concern in his voice. "Don't die on me now! I'm getting you to a medic!"

[Painful memories came flooding back. The demon and her damnable uncaring gaze, the burning, agonising rage filling her chest, the desire powering her on to defeat the Devil. Then came flashes of pain as she recalled the falling building, the crushing weight of tonnes of fallen masonry and the vicious flames surrounding her. She could see the Devil girl in her mind's eye, first unconscious on the ground, then gun raised, ready to consign her to the same fate as her father. Finally, she felt the bullets strike her chest, ripping into her torso causing fountains of pain with each blow.

"I'm sorry Papa, I'm sorry." She croaked, feeling tears rolling down her cheeks as her body screamed in agony from her wounds. She had failed to put an end to the Devil of the Rhine and despite defeating her, she had allowed the monster to get away before she could receive God's justice. She hadn't been able to give the demon's victims the peace they deserved, she hadn't been able to lay her father's spirit to rest. She hadn't been able to soothe the ever-present ache in her soul.

Darkness swallowed her and the creeping cold seeped deeper and deeper into her bones. Her aches and injuries screamed at her and the final traces of energy fled her limbs. She could no longer feel the arms of the man carrying her, she was alone and frightened, and the anguish in her heart felt as though it were burning her away.

She was falling again, but this time there was no warm light, no heavenly choir and no comforting embrace from her father. There was nothing but pain in her body and heartache in her soul. She couldn't go on any longer, she wasn't strong enough. She just wanted it all to end.

"Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, the Lord is with you wherever you go."

The words seemed to enter her head without the intervention of her ears, chasing away the freezing shadows that threatened to consume her. Again there was something familiar about the voice, but her pain-addled mind struggled to place it, even as the voice drove it away. Much like the light, it felt warm and comforting and although it didn't quite fill the void in her chest, it made it feel bearable once again. If only for a moment.

"Damian?" Her lips moved mouthed almost wordlessly as she realised who the owner of the voice had been. Those were the words he had said to her when she had fallen before, he'd found her and taken away some of the pain from her. Except he hadn't really been there, had he? He had said so himself. Yet, both then and now, she was certain she had heard his voice.

She summoned up what little strength she could muster and finally managed to force her eyes open, searching for her friend. Above her, she could make out the blurry silhouette of the man carrying her, a familiar frustrated scowl colouring his face as he carried her on his broom-like mage gear.

Colonel Drake, she realised, barely able to move her head to search her surroundings. But what about…?

"D…Damian?" She croaked again through cracked lips and dry mouth, struggling to keep her eyes focused as she watched the clouds pass by above her. She had heard him, she was certain of it.

This time her soft questioning words didn't go unnoticed as Colonel Drake glanced down towards her, a mix of surprise and concern marring his usually severe features. She caught a glimmer of sympathetic pain cross his gaze for a moment, perhaps the most emotion she'd ever seen in his auburn eyes.

"He's missing, I couldn't find any trace of him." He murmured grimly, expression quickly returning to his usual cold and emotionless self as he looked away and concentrated on his flight spell, although a hint of sadness still remained, despite his attempts to hide it. The message behind his words was clear however, even through the woolly haze in her pain riven head. Drake thought he was dead.

No! It can't be! She thought, unable to find enough energy to speak aloud as a rush of panic filled her. I heard him I…

Another rush of garbled memory flooded her befuddled mind. Damian had been there, just as the demon girl aimed her pistol at her head, he had burst into the temple and crashed in front of them. He had tried to save her! Even that heartless devil had given pause on his arrival. Somehow he'd known she was in trouble and he had come for her!

"Need…. go back!" She forced the words through her lips once more, trying to reach back towards the ruined church. He was still there, they couldn't leave him alone with her! They had to go back for him! She'd seen him writhing in pain on the floor, he'd been injured! She couldn't leave him behind!

"I'm sorry kid, he's gone." Drake replied grimly as Mary struggled futilely in his arms, trying to force him to turn back for her friend, causing the man to almost lose his balance.

"No!" She protested weakly, feeling tears forming in the corners of her eyes but the commander remained unmoved. The man swore under his breath although for once he did not admonish her, instead he placed a hand softly on her head and whispered softly as he carried on towards friendly lines. "Sleep."

She felt a sliver of warmth where Commander Drake's rough hand touched her skin and she recognised the familiar sensation of mana spreading through her, bringing with it a sense of drowsiness that threatened to overwhelm her already battered and exhausted body. He had cast a spell on her and although she was doing all she could, she was too tired to resist the call to slumber.

No! We need to go back! She could feel the dark shadow of unconsciousness threatening to swallow her again as what little energy she possessed was stripped away from her. Tears were flowing freely now as she felt her eyes become increasingly heavy, and once again she felt as though she were falling.

No! Please! The ache in her chest opened up anew as sleep came to swallow her, a fresh wound carving into her heart. She'd failed to stop the Devil from taking anyone else and worse still, the person she had stolen away had been her friend. She had failed Damian.

She was falling, it was dark and she was alone, yet her mouth moved instinctively as slumber claimed her, calling for the person she wished was there with her for the most, the one who had always been there to chase away the nightmares.

"Papa."

May 7th Unified Year 1925 20:10

Federation 7th Army Group Headquarters, Insterburg, 35Km East of Tiegenhoff

It was unusual for Captain of State Security Serge Krugov to find himself unnoticed when he entered a room. He was taller and broader than most of his comrades, making him an intimidating sight even on the rare occasions he wasn't wearing his immaculately kept olive and navy uniform. Although in his youth, his brother had often commended him on how silently he could move when they'd hunted prey in the woods, as he'd grown older, he'd found that the sound of a few heavy footfalls announcing his presence went a long way towards furthering the goals of the General Secretary and the Council of People's Commissars. Particularly those of his superior in the Commissariat of Internal Affairs. It was exceedingly rare that his approach was not heard, even in crowded and chaotic environments such as this.

Unlike many of his junior colleagues, his position meant that it was important he be both seen and heard. He was a symbol of the Secretary's authority, an enforcer of his will, it was not appropriate for him to be lurking in the shadows. However, the pandemonium within the command centre obscured even a man like him at times like this. That was why he allowed himself a moment to take in the confusion unfolding around him. Panicked men revealed a great many secrets, even if they did not mean to, and it was rare that anyone revealed them to him willingly.

He watched as junior officers rushed around carrying reports to one another seemingly at random, unsure if the information they carried was useful enough to interrupt the troubled eyes of their superiors. Meanwhile, the middling officers barked contradictory orders at their underlings, only serving to compound the madness as they attempted to show even an ounce of competence in the eyes of their comrades. Every one of their commands only serving to delay any viable tactic being employed by the heroes still holding the ground at the front. Their incompetence only adding to the ever-mounting list of names to be etched on the monuments at the Marsovo Polye.

Finally, in the centre of all this pandemonium stood the senior officers by the map table, an eye of silent inaction at the heart of the storm around them. Occasionally one of the adjutants, or a young lieutenant colonel attached to General Pavliv's staff, would offer a quiet word of desperate encouragement to their commanders; a spec of silver lining amongst the darkening clouds. A commendable attitude for a patriot, but ultimately futile. It was clear to everyone within the inner circle that it was all over.

Pavliv's assault on Tiegenhoff had failed, and all those deemed responsible would soon be punished.

"Comrade Captain?" A voice at his side politely cut in, breaking a sliver of his attention from the scene. His subordinate was awaiting instructions.

"Lieutenant Kolyuchiyev, see to it that the Commonwealth detection equipment is safely evacuated, and bring me the reports of its operators." He replied, resisting the urge to spit as he uttered the name of that island and its pathetic little pseudo-empire. As much as he was loathed to admit it, their technology had been useful in informing them of the disposition of the enemy mages. It was unfortunate that Pavliv had been too incompetent to properly capitalise on that information.

"And the General and his staff?" The Lieutenant added expectantly, following Krugov's gaze towards the defeated-looking man at the far end of the room. The map no longer held any interest for him, instead, his attention was fixed solely on a small photograph and pendant on a chain in his hand, a sad shimmer in his eyes informing Krugov of far-off thoughts and an aching heart.

"I will deal with them." Krugov replied, waving his subordinates away, bidding them to proceed with their task, eyes lingering on the General a moment longer.

He strode into the anarchy before him, his presence suddenly noticed by the gaggle of panicking officers who now parted before him. A new, different sense of fear washed over the room, one he was more accustomed to, and one that returned a semblance of order to the command centre, albeit a warped one. He said nothing as he took the place that rapidly opened up at the end of the map table, he knew he did not need to. Instead, he continued to stare at the General responsible for this disaster, ready to act as judge and executioner in the General Secretary's stead.

Pavliv seemed unmoved, however, and continued to stare at his photograph as he quietly contemplated his brief future, a stark contrast to his earlier behaviour when bought before the council. Krugov resisted the urge to let out a sigh, he'd seen this before in broken men, fear left them when they realised there was nothing more to hope for. It made things difficult for men in his profession, it was difficult to use a man as an example if he was ready to accept the inevitable.

"Comrade Krugov." The General said eventually, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion as a shaky hand carefully placed the photo and chain into his breast pocket, tired eyes bringing themselves to meet his own. "I regret to inform you that the enemy has broken through our lines and reinforced the city. In order to prevent encirclement, I have ordered our forces to fall back. Because of this, we will be unable to carry out the wishes of the General Secretary."

Krugov had a reputation of being stone faced, rarely allowing emotion to reach his face, however, even he found himself raising an eyebrow at the General's report. He had expected a string of excuses; people did not usually admit their faults to Krugov, at least not willingly. Rarer still was it that they held his gaze like this, even with the resigned look on the General's face. Despite the man's many failings, Krugov couldn't help but be impressed. At last, the man was acting as a true officer of the Russy Federation should.

"I request the party allow my officers to oversee the safe withdrawal." He added, swallowing nervously. "Their commander is the one at fault and I…my successor will need their experience in the battles to come."

Again, Krugov was surprised by the General's nobility in this matter. He had taken the man as nothing more than another simple toady who had slithered up the ranks in the wake of Comrade Iosef's purge, he had certainly acted that way until now. It was a shame, in other circumstances the Secretary might have been lenient with a man who showed such character; he was a benevolent and merciful leader after all. However, the Secretary's will was law and Krugov was an instrument of that will. Krugov's instructions in this matter were ironclad; failure could not go unpunished.

"Leave." Krugov growled to the assembled officers, not taking his eyes off Pavliv. With the General's confession, he could grant the General's request and allow the other officers to go about their duties, for now at least. Comrade Loria would likely want them questioned later, but that could wait.

The command centre quickly emptied, no one willing to witness what was to come, and a grim silence fell over the previously chaotic room. If Krugov were one for levity, he might have found it funny that the administration of an army could evacuate so seamlessly when prompted, particularly since he'd already been told it would take several hours to relocate the command centre. However, Krugov wasn't known for laughter and the man in front of him had his complete attention.

"If I'd had more time, or more freedom to attack how and where I wished, I could have…." Pavliv began, defiance swiftly giving way to despair as the words fell out of his mouth. "No, we shouldn't have been here at all. We should have continued pushing towards the Imperial heartlands, starve out the forces here. I never wanted to pointlessly throw men at the city like this."

"Are you making excuses Comrade General?" Krugov replied quietly, studying the broken man while keeping his hand close to his holster. Sometimes a man was more dangerous without the eyes of his comrades to keep him honest.

"Just my professional opinion, Comrade Captain." Replied dryly, a hint of defiance returning to his voice causing Krugov to rise to tense up instinctively, readying himself for any sign of foul play. "I'd like it on the record that I objected to this operation."

"You have that right." Krugov growled in return, noting a slight shake in the man's hands as he spoke. It had taken all the courage he had to say this to him he realised. A last gasp of misbegotten pride before the end.

"Will it matter?" The general asked, barely in a whisper.

"No"

Krugov wasn't going to sugarcoat the truth, especially not for the sake of a condemned man. The man's words would simply be added to the list of evidence proving his anti-party leanings. It was unlikely that his objection would go any further than himself or Loria, the party censors would erase everything else. His protest was meaningless, however, Krugov could forgive the man for wanting to stand by his convictions in his last moments. Even if they were misguided.

In that at least, he'd earned his respect.

"What happens now?" The General murmured, reaching back into his pocket for his treasures, staring at the photo as though he were afraid its contents would disappear if he took his eyes off it for too long.

"You already know the answer to that." Krugov replied, straightening as he rose to his full height. It was almost time to deliver the sentence, a sentence that held only one punishment in times of war. Traitors to the party and the Comrade Dzhugashvili could only expect one fate.

"And my family?" The General added, voice cracking as he spoke.

Krugov paused, his face darkening at the question. It was another foolish thing to ask, everyone in the country had been warned of the new measures introduced since the beginning of the war. The Commissariat for Internal Affairs had made sure the message was clearly delivered in the wake of the attack on Moscau. The stricter measures were an unfortunate, but necessary, measure to keep the peace. It was possible some innocents would be caught up in the aftermath as a result but sacrifices had to be made to secure Comrade Dzhugashvili's vision of the future.

"The families of those guilty of anti-communist activity will be sent to the Lageri. There we can keep an eye on them while they continue to work for the interests of the Motherland." Krugov replied, mentally reading from the script prepared by Comrade Loria's clerks as he tried to push aside his frustration at his own words. Pavliv was a fool, and deserved punishment for his failures, but he was no anti-party activist.

However, Loria had told him the charge was a quick and convenient excuse to expedite his execution without the need for an official trial, even one of the private ones that the Commissariat usually prepared. His family would, unfortunately, be caught in the crossfire and would suffer a slower execution as they worked off Pavliv's societal debt in the camps. That was the way of things, more anonymous martyrs of the revolution.

He watched as the General's shoulders slumped further, expecting some final act of rebellion from the man in response to the threat against his family. Guilty or not, few men would stand for such threats against their loved ones. However, instead, he simply closed his eyes, fighting back his tears as he murmured a silent apology at the photograph.

Krugov felt another flash of annoyance, one brought by himself this time as an old memory, that he'd long thought buried, dug its way into his conscious mind. A reminder of a mistake he'd once made that still weighed on him. He'd offered mercy to a man, sent him and his wife into exile instead of seeing that he suffered the punishment he deserved for siding against Comrade Dzhugashvili—a man whom he'd respected and cared for deeply.

I should not allow myself to make the same mistake again. He thought to himself, watching the General's face as he accepted his fate. It was the same expression worn by his brother, so many years ago. But still.

"Such a sentence only applies to the families of those deemed enemies of the state." He said eventually, taking his pistol from its holster, placing it on the table and sliding it in front of Pavliv, cursing himself internally for his lapse. His betrayal of his ideals and Comrade Dzhugashvili. "It is difficult, even for those of us in internal affairs, to call a man a traitor if he dies for the Motherland before we can render judgment."

He turned away, not bothering to check if Pavliv took the gun, cursing the fresh bout of weakness that had caused him to act this way. The uncomfortable feelings about his brother had resurfaced lately. Memories of hunting with him in the woods as boys, his icy blonde hair almost melting away into the snow. Of when he'd tried to follow in his footsteps, joined the party, only to be turned against its true leader by Davidovich and his worldwide revolution followers. Those thankful jade eyes when he'd allowed him and his wife to escape the country instead of delivering him for punishment as he should have.

Ever since he'd seen those damnable mages in the capital, these memories had been eating away at him, breeding a sense of doubt and unease that he thought he had long dispelled from himself. He didn't want to be reminded of his failure, his brother had been a traitor and he should have faced the firing squad. And yet…

It was that false Tsar's fault, he was certain of it. His declaration in Red Square was a direct challenge to every one of his cherished ideals, his presence in the heart of the Federation an insult to the very foundations of their communist principles. Loria may have been obsessed with his precious fairy but it was the loathsome royal that was the true enemy; his kind always would be. After all, if someone like Krugov could be so affected by him, how would the common citizens of the Motherland feel? He and all his minions would need to be dealt with as soon as possible.

Alas, their opportunity to do so had slipped through their fingers for now.

He let out a sigh and returned to his work, reaching for the General's briefcase stored carefully under the map table. He clicked it open and carefully riffled through the file provided by the deplorable Commonwealth spy, checking that all the information remained where prying eyes could not find it.

He'd spent quite some time studying his own copy of the information since the repugnant false diplomat had provided them with their information on the Empire's infamous elite. It was irritatingly short on details considering the Allied Kingdom's supposed brilliance at information gathering. Much of the data was from second-hand sources investigating after an assault, or analytics from their mana detection equipment that contained concepts he had little understanding of. There were some interesting observations on their capabilities, however, they'd already witnessed many of those first-hand.

Of the battalion itself, little was known about its background aside from the number V-601. Of the pasts of its members, nothing had been found at all. Particularly frustrating was the lack of information on the so-called "Pixie" at their head, with only distant pictures taken from computation orbs to prove she existed at all.

The only member of the group with a decent amount of known information was the little Tzar from Letzenbourg, the so-called Saint of Letzenbourg. It seemed he truly was the Letzenbourg prince, a fact the Commonwealth agents had spent a great deal of resources proving to themselves despite the boy's regular appearance in the Imperial press. The file even included clear images of him, parading around with the same self-importance all tyrants do. It made his blood boil just looking at him.

A gunshot rang out behind him, accompanied by a heavy thud of something hitting the table.

Krugov let out another sigh and placed the files back into the briefcase before turning and retrieving his pistol from the General's lifeless hand, doing his best to avoid the blood spreading across the floor. He caught sight of the photograph gripped tightly in his other hand along with the pendant he'd valued almost as highly.

He frowned as he recognised a patriarchal cross. Perhaps he had been wrong about the General if he needed to carry such a vile trinket around, the opium of the people was not something a loyal soldier of the Federation should possess. Still, Krugov had implied certain assurances before the man's death, as long as the rot went no further than the General, he would overlook it this once.

He let out a sigh as he carefully removed them, placing the photo back in the man's breast pocket and pocketing the cross before rising and heading out of the room. There was still a lot to do.

It had been a mistake to entrust the capture of the Imperial mages to someone like Pavliv. Even Loria, as devious as he could be, was unsuited to such a task. It needed planning, patience and when it came to the final strike, a singular purpose.

The memory from his childhood filled his mind once again. The feeling as he stared down the sights of his rifle, face to face with a wolf as his brother waited next to him, silently giving his encouragement as the icy cold air froze their faces. The elation as he pulled the trigger and put the predator down for good.

Pavliv had been a poor choice if Loria really wanted to capture the Imperial mages who'd shamed them in Moscau. This task did not require a soldier, it needed a hunter.

May 7th Unified Year 1925 20:10

Welhau village, 10km south of Tiegenhoff

Miss Mills let out a frustrated sigh as she watched another group of Federation soldiers loot everything of worth from a small Germanian cottage, making sure to hide her presence behind a building despite the obvious preoccupation of those she was observing. It wouldn't do to be noticed after all; professional pride aside, she doubted any soldier ransacking a house would have any gentlemanly intentions towards a woman dressed as an Imperial Army nurse.

All sense of order in the Federation ranks had collapsed since the Imperial breakthrough, and it seemed that even the threats from the communists' thuggish enforcers were not enough to keep their soldiers in line as they fled the field with their tails between their legs. She wasn't sure if it made her want to laugh or cry. She'd heard that men at war became nothing more than beasts once discipline broke down, but she had never thought she'd witness it with her own eyes. One could only hope that the soldiers in Her Majesty's employ were better behaved.

The soldiers left by the Federation to cover the retreat had obviously seen the writing on the wall and decided to do what they could to make some personal profit from the situation. A notion she found most ironic considering they came from a nation that supposedly rejected capitalist ideology. Unfortunately for them, short-term personal gain was not necessarily the best course of action on the battlefield, or at least that was how it seemed to Miss Mills. It neither furthered the goals of your own side nor hindered your enemy, and stealing from the locals wasn't likely to win you many popularity contests either. For once, they would have been much better practising the so-called 'collectivist spirit' their communist paymasters were so proud of and working together to withdraw in an orderly fashion.

Looting the locals also didn't do much to improve your odds of survival, something these men would soon find out. A company of Letzenbourgers were fast approaching their position, she'd only narrowly avoided them a few streets away and knew they were heading in this direction. She understood that they held very strong opinions on criminal actions carried out by occupying forces, after experiencing it for themselves, they'd developed a rather low tolerance for it. Even the foreign volunteers who'd never lived through the short-lived conquest of their little nation had developed a healthy disdain for any misbehaviour by would-be invaders. Especially those simply robbing what they could from innocent people's homes.

Still, she couldn't wait around to watch these fellows get their just desserts, being seen by either side before she'd finished her task would be less than ideal. After all, old Habergram had given her 'another little job' to do before she could continue with her primary mission.

John was right, they really do like to overwork us. She grumbled to herself, searching for another route toward her target. It's bad enough having to tidy up these messes at home, it would be nice if our new friends could learn to clean up after themselves.

She let out another sigh before smoothing her dress and heading in the opposite direction of the Federation looters. Her Germainian nurse uniform was not exactly built for stealth, certainly not in the middle of a warzone, but she hadn't had the luxury of changing into something more practical for this operation. She would have to keep her distance and take the long way around if she were to remain undetected.

Honestly, they know I'm supposed to be heading further into the Empire now. I only have a few days before I'm supposed to rendezvous at the military hospital in Berlun! Could they really not find anyone else to do this? She complained to herself as she moved silently through a side gate and along a long wall leading down an alleyway behind some houses. Although she would have to vault garden walls to get to her destination, she could take a more direct route this way and it was best to stay off the roads. At least until she was ready to be found.

Despite her inner protestations, Mills was proud of her work and knew that she would not have been given this operation if the higher-ups didn't believe she was capable of succeeding. However, this mission didn't sit well with her, not in the slightest.

The Reds had happily sat on the sidelines of this conflict for years before finally seeing sense, even offering favourable trade concessions to the Empire in the process. It took them too long to realise the danger of an Imperial hegemony and when they finally did decide to take action, they bungled the attempt at a quick deathblow and wasted all their energy attacking an unimportant target.

Now, because they were unable to properly maintain order in the ranks, it fell to the Allied Kingdom to bail out their allies while they fell back to better positions. Specifically, she had to make sure that the Imperials didn't gain any useful information from the various command posts they were about to overrun. Even with so few forces along the eastern front, the Empire could easily force a rout if they were to get a hold of the Federation's withdrawal plans and order of battle. Unfortunately, the Russy soldiers seemed to be very careless about leaving them as they fled the field.

She heard a flurry of gunfire behind her, along with angry shouts and frightened screams. It seemed the Letzenbourgers had found the looters and were delivering what passed for justice. They'd caught up quicker than she'd expected. It was odd, by all accounts the little country's tiny military should be considered second-rate at best, particularly when compared to their Imperial counterparts. Yet reports liberated from her communist "allies" claimed they fought like devils, inspired by the heroics of the so-called Saint. Habergram, John and the other girls thought they were just stories, but Mills was beginning to suspect there might be more to it than they thought. Either way, she would need to hurry if she were to finish her task before they arrived.

She soon reached a tall garden wall by an old sycamore tree and paused for a moment to get her bearings, listening carefully for any signs of activity from the other side of the aged stone. She reached inside her medical bag for her map, one of several items she would need to dispose of before the day was done if she were to maintain her cover. She hadn't had time to properly memorise it for this operation, another inconvenience brought on by her superiors scrambling to cover the tracks of their new Federation allies.

A quick glance confirmed her location. There would be a road on the other side of this wall and beyond that the village hall that the Federation had occupied as a forward command post; her fourth and, thankfully, final target for the day.

She clicked her tongue thoughtfully as her ears revealed little in the way of activity beyond the wall, or at least the not-so-distant commotion from the Letzenbourgers was too loud for her to accurately tell. However, it would be risky to vault the wall without being sure no one on the other side would notice, there was too much at stake to go in blind. She wasn't about to chance lifting her head over the wall to check though, if there were any guards left in the command post she might find herself a good deal shorter if she were spotted. She would have to get creative.

She searched her bag once again for her compact mirror, not exactly a medical item she knew but an essential item for a lady on the go. Then, after a little effort, she freed a long branch from the tree and tied the mirror to it with some of the bandages from her pack. All too aware that time was quickly running out if she were to stay ahead of the approaching Letzenbourgers.

The delay had been worth it however, as the makeshift periscope revealed a soldier hastily piling equipment and documents into a truck, fearful glances towards the nearby sounds of shooting revealing he too was concerned about the approaching enemy. It seemed that at least some of the Communists were trying to perform their duties properly. Unfortunately, the enemy was too close, he would never have the time to properly evacuate everything before they arrived and she could not risk him leaving anything behind or getting captured on the road.

He appeared to be the only guard left at the command post however. It seemed they had long since fled, or they were indulging in the same loathsome behaviour that had drawn the ire of the nearby Letzenbourg vigilantes. That made her job easier at least, although it was also frustrating knowing that the local commander hadn't enough control of his troops to evacuate in an orderly fashion.

She wondered where he was. Had he fled already? Or perhaps his own men had turned on him when it seemed the day was lost. Either way, it was more reason not to trust these new allies her homeland had found; in her humble opinion at least. She'd rather have a reliable enemy than an untrustworthy friend, at least you knew where you stood with an enemy.

She drew a pistol from her bag as she waited for the man to re-enter the command post. She would need to dispose of that too before she disappeared into the approaching Imperial forces, nurses were not usually armed after all. Besides which, there was always the danger that the weapon could be traced back to the Imperial lieutenant who had graciously donated it on her way here. She'd rather not have to explain how he ended up face-down in a ditch.

Hurry up and go back inside. She grumbled to herself as the man lingered for a moment, clearly wondering if it were better to flee or continue the evacuation. It would make her job far more difficult if he took the truck and tried to escape now, there would be no guarantee the truck wouldn't be caught by the imperials.

Fortunately, duty won out and he darted back inside. As soon as he was out of sight, she hastily ripped the mirror from the branch and stowed it away in her bag before scrambling over the wall, cursing again as her dress caught on a jagged rock, putting a sizable tear in her otherwise pristine uniform.

The Imperial Army didn't have wall climbing in mind either when they designed their medical uniforms she grumbled internally, once again lamenting the lack of preparation that had led her here. She wondered if asking for a pay rise when she was back home in Blighty would be considered unpatriotic.

She propelled herself across the road as soon as her shoes hit the cobbles, racing towards the command post. As she closed, she skidded to a stop by the entrance and pressed herself to the side of the doorway to mask herself from anyone inside and readied herself for the soldier's return, mindful of the approaching Letzenbourgers.

She would not need to wait long as the young soldier soon reappeared, maps under one arm and a field telephone slung under the other, as he raced to clear as much as he could from the near-abandoned building. He was doomed to failure, however. Mills couldn't risk the chance of him or his cargo being captured, the enemy was too close, so she brought down her pistol heavily on the back of his head with a crack, dropping him to the floor.

She murmured a quiet apology as she gathered the charts and rifled his pockets for codebooks or anything else of any import, tossing them onto the truck for later disposal. The soldier was young, barely eighteen, and wore a hand-knitted red scarf around his neck that had the tell-tale signs of a garment crafted by a concerned mother or grandmother. She took it without a second thought, thinking she might be able to use it later, then quickly dragged the boy's body towards the truck, feeling a moment of guilt as she stole the treasured item.

It was unfortunate, Mills didn't much like needlessly upsetting poor mothers, even those from the Federation.

She stepped over the smashed telephone before hastily entering the hall, taking care to remain as quiet as possible as she probed further into the command post. She moved silently along the corridor, ears straining as they listened for any further sign of life but the inside seemed almost as deserted as the outside. With the only sounds she could hear being a low snore from a small room just off the main hall and increasingly louder shouts from outside as the Imperial allies approached.

The mystery of both the snoring and the missing commander was quickly solved as Miss Mills peered around the doorway into a makeshift office. A greying middle-aged Major was face down at a map-strewn desk, a bottle of vodka in one hand, along with several more empty ones by his feet. It seemed that he too had decided the fight here was lost, but unlike the looters in the streets or the diligent young soldier, he had abandoned his duties in favour of drowning his sorrows away with alcohol. An approach to difficult situations that did nothing to improve Mills' estimations of their new Russy allies.

She carefully made her way into the office, taking in her surroundings as she entered, although judging by the amount of alcohol the man had consumed she doubted she needed to be especially quiet. As suspected, there was still a great deal of equipment, half decrypted cyphers, discarded codebooks and maps strewn about the place. The latter of which were surprisingly accurate, a fact that would doubtless be of great interest to the Imperial high command.

The slumbering Major also held a pair of decoded messages in the hand not ladened with his favoured vice, both of which easier to dislodge than the bottle in the other. A quick study of both almost made Mills laugh out loud, she could scarcely believe that even the Federation was so painfully disorganised.

It's hardly any wonder this fellow was driven to drink. She thought rolling her eyes as she tossed the two messages in the centre of the table. The man had been given contradictory orders from two different sources. An orderly evacuation to secondary positions from the General in charge and a directive to take "no step back" from a local representative of the Commissariat of Internal Affairs; both of which with thinly veiled threats if there was any sign of insubordination or surrender. Drinking oneself to death was probably preferable to being shot by his own side for following orders.

She took the scarf from her bag, wrapping it around the muzzle of her pistol to dampen the noise as she put a bullet in the man's brain, paying little attention as she finished the work the alcohol had started. There was a great deal of material to dispose of here and very little time to achieve it before the enemy arrived. Fortunately, the expired Major had given her a handy solution to that problem.

She removed the half-filled bottle from the man's hand and began pouring its contents about the place, the cheap booze burning her nostrils as she took particular care to drench the maps and codebooks on the table. She added the few pieces liberated from the expired private outside before producing a small purse containing cigarettes and an oil lighter.

Smoking was a dirty habit she knew, and certainly one that mother wouldn't approve of, however, it was one that proved very useful in her line of work. Not only was it always handy to have an innocent access to a flame but people had a tendency to be much more chatty when sharing a fag. Smoke breaks provided an opportunity to obtain a wealth of knowledge, not to mention a moment of respite during a particularly irksome job.

She lit herself a cigarette, took a drag and discarded the warm ash on the vodka-coated documents, only waiting long enough to be certain the fire had caught before making her way back out of the building. By the time she reached the exit, smoke was already beginning to escape the building, it would not take long before the blaze tidied up the mess inside for her. That only left the truck and its contents outside to deal with.

A quick glance as she exited revealed the Letzenbourgers had yet to catch up with her, perhaps they'd found some other Russy looters to punish before they finished liberating the area. Taking advantage of this, she hastily crossed to the truck, cigarette still in her mouth as she searched it for a spare fuel can.

She had to give the Federation some credit, its soldiers had been well supplied as they entered Imperial territory, and despite different gauges of railway causing chaos with their logistics and constant harassment from mages and aircraft as they advanced, they had done a decent job of keeping their supply lines open. As such, extra fuel was not difficult to find and after a repeat of her earlier "cleaning" inside, she simply had to stand back and watch both vehicle and building be consumed by flames.

Finally, I can get back to my own business. She thought, looking down at her dishevelled uniform with a frown; it appeared she would have to adjust her cover story slightly.

She had originally meant to slip onto one of the trains heading for Berlun, posing as one of the plethora of personnel that was being shuttled back and forth across the Empire in the anarchy left in the wake of the Russy invasion. The Albion asset already inside the military hospital in the Imperial capital had already tampered with the files and arranged for the transfer of "Frau Müller" to the psychiatric wing, thus setting the foundation of her cover.

However, a torn dress that smelled of smoke and gunpowder didn't exactly fit the mould of the naive Germanian country nurse travelling to the capital to serve her country. At least not in the manner they had originally intended. It was fortunate so many Imperial citizens had been caught behind Federation lines following the invasion, it gave her options. It was once again time to be creative and the approaching Letzenbourg soldiers would aid her.

She reached into her bag to toss her pistol away under the burning truck, confident that she wouldn't need it anymore but paused as stared down at the soot-covered scarf still covering the barrel. It was a rather nice scarf, it reminded her of one her grandmother had made for her when she was a child. A handmade trinket like this would go a long way towards making her cover more believable, perhaps she could still make use of it.

Miss Mills wrapped it around her neck, hastily hiding a smile as the first of several Letzenbourgers rounded the corner towards her position. However, it was Frau Müller who rushed towards them, thankful that her noble saviours had scared off the brutish Federation occupiers who'd so recently prevented her from reaching her post, safe in the knowledge that they would deliver her to safety behind Imperial lines. After all, they had very strong opinions about that sort of thing.

May 7th Unified Year 1925 20:15

Ruins of St Jutta's Cathedral, Tiegenhoff

Sophia couldn't hide the worry from her face as she cleaned the vicious-looking head wound on the forehead of her young prince. It would need stitches, she was sure; the bleeding had slowed but blood continued to slowly seep from the deep lesion, unwilling to fully close or clot despite the first aid spell she had used. The blow that had caused it must have been severe; it was a miracle that he had remained conscious at all, particularly with how exhausted she knew he must be.

Yet this wasn't the sum of his injuries. His eyes kept flickering in and out of focus, his dilated pupils telling her that the head wound had likely caused a concussion. His left wrist was bruised and swollen, along with several of his fingers, making both difficult for him to move without discomfort. He'd likely suffered broken bones in each of them, although she would need a doctor to confirm her suspicions. And once again he appeared to have broken several ribs, or at least badly bruised them, causing him trouble with his breathing. Likely the result of the bones weakening after being damaged so many times before.

She suspected there may be internal injuries too, but unlike her sister, she only had a rudimentary understanding of basic field medicine, not to mention limited equipment to make anything close to a real diagnosis. In truth, most of the care she'd given the young prince was based on nothing more than guesswork and a few bits of half-remembered knowledge she'd picked up from Christina over the years. She knew she wasn't up to the task of making him better.

She was out of her depth, feeling all but useless in the face of all the punishment the young boy had taken and she wished her sister were here to help her. She had always been better at this, always known what to do. No, she thought, feeling a frown tug at her face. She should have been there to prevent him from getting into such a state in the first place. She should never have left his side.

If only I'd paid more when Christina tried to teach us medical magic. She chastised herself as she tried to concentrate on treating his wounds, dabbing the cut with disinfectant as she cursed herself for not listening to her older sister. Neither she nor the prince had ever shown much interest in learning any magical-based field medicine, they'd always been preoccupied with other matters. It was exceptionally rare for any aerial mage to employ magical healing, even in the midst of battle.

Healing spells were difficult to master and required a good deal of medical knowledge to safely make use of. Additionally, it used a lot of mana, something most mages could rarely spare in the heat of battle. Even the Imperial army only ever employed specialists in the role as a result, with medical mages even rarer and more sought after than the rest of them. It had only been at Christina's insistence that they'd learned anything at all and even then, it had been little more than a few techniques to numb the pain and temporarily patch some small scrapes.

The prince had always laughed off the idea of learning anything more than that, claiming that it was unnecessary. After all, Christina would always be there to take care of them if either of them were too careless; or, that was how it was supposed to be. His bold declaration seemed foolish now, and she wished she'd sided with her sister in the matter, but at the time, the young prince's confidence had been infectious. He had made her feel as though they were unbeatable.

He always had.

"There isn't too much I can do Your Highness. I can patch you up but you'll need to see a proper medic." She said as she knelt to replace his dressing and began to bandage his forehead, bringing her to his eye level. She knew he wouldn't be pleased with the idea of seeing a doctor, he still harboured a deep mistrust of anyone in the medical profession and treated a stethoscope with as much suspicion as most would an unholstered weapon. Other than Christina, it had been years since he'd allowed any doctor anywhere close to him. It was surprising that even she had been allowed so close to him. She understood he'd already refused treatment from the medics that Lieutenant Serybryakov had called for before she had arrived.

"Later." He said quietly, sparing her a pained look sharing his displeasure at the prospect before returning his gaze towards the other side of the cathedral, his brow furrowing as he became lost in thought. She followed his stare to the young Major perched on an upturned pew at the foot of the altar. She was being treated for her own injuries, a fatigued medic working diligently on her even while the young officer received news from her adjutant and other arriving subordinates.

She looked to have taken as much of a beating as the young prince, although she conceded she was not especially qualified to tell who had come out worse. Visha stood over her nervously, seeming unsure where to put her hands as she resisted the urge to fuss over the young girl like a mother hen. Meanwhile, Captain Weiss seemed to be alternating between giving a report and apologising for not dealing with the Federation aircraft quickly enough to reinforce her.

It seemed like they too seemed rattled by the sight of their injured commander. Seeing someone as gifted as Major Degurechaff beaten so badly had revealed cracks in the pristine image of the Argent and nobody quite knew how to feel about it. It was an experience she could relate with all too well.

It was the problem with geniuses like the Prince and Major, their intelligence and maturity elevated them far above children their own age, even many adults. When they seemed sure of something they could dispel any doubts normal people like her might have. Being around them made the impossible suddenly feel possible, and as a result, made the pair seem both invincible and infallible.

This, along with the increased strength and toughness imbued by magical ability, fooled you into believing that they were older than they really were. And both had achieved things that would have been inconceivable to anyone serving before the war, especially for anyone so young. But despite how it might seem, they were still children and suffered many of the faults and frailties their age brought, overconfidence among them.

"You'll also need some time for rest and recuperation. We should head back to the capital for a while once you've been treated." She continued carefully as she moved on to put a splint around his arm. By now she was all but certain it was broken, the swelling was only getting worse and his fingers had begun turning an ugly black-purple colour as the bruises began to show. "I suspect Major Degurechaff will need some time out of the combat rotation too."

She risked another glance at the young prince, expecting some argument from him on the point. Prince Wilhelm had always been restless and always preferred to keep busy with one thing or another. Even when he'd been injured in the past, he rarely allowed himself much time to rest, sometimes it seemed he was incapable of staying in one place for very long. She'd always assumed it was due to being cooped up when he was younger; the so-called medical treatments inflicted on him by the former Regent meant he was often left bed-bound in his room. Who wouldn't want to escape that once they had the chance?

However, the longer she and Christina served at his side, the more she became convinced there was more to it. It was as though he were striving towards something, something he hadn't even shared with her or her sister. Moreover, she suspected he'd been close to achieving it at times, or at least he had thought he was, but it had been ripped away at the last moment. Something in his eyes told her it must be so and she worried it was taking its toll on him.

Although she didn't know what this goal was, she was certain it was the true reason he so desperately wanted to stay at the front, even now the danger from the former Regent was gone. Whatever it was, it was the reason she could never persuade him to retire from this war. No matter how much she wanted to keep him safe, until he'd overcome this secret obsession, he would never accept retreat.

She felt another pang of concern as the prince remained silent, not even acknowledging the thought of an extended break from the front lines. It wasn't like him to be so quiet and subdued, even with his injuries. She would have almost preferred to hear him argue with her, declaring he had no need for a break despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. This silence felt wrong, as though he were not himself.

"I understand it was a Letzenbourg unit that spearheaded the breakthrough. I hear they were calling your name as they charged in. I'm sure they'd like to see you if you feel up to it." She continued, changing the subject in the hopes of eliciting some reaction from the boy. She'd been trying to give him good news from home whenever she could, even though he often didn't want to hear it. She wanted to dispel the misapprehension that the people of Letzenbourg hated him. As much as she wanted the young prince to rest and heal, she still wanted to prove to him that it wasn't just she and her sister that loved him, the people back home did too. Maybe that way he could finally forgive himself for what had happened in the city. And for what had happened to Christina.

Again she was greeted by silence as she moved to put his arm in a sling, his gaze still fixed on Degurechaff on the far side of the room. She waited a moment more for a reply, wondering if he had even heard her, when she realised the boy was shaking.

"I couldn't…She…She nearly died!" He whispered almost to himself, disbelief fighting with childlike fear in his trembling voice. "Tanya can't…She can't…"

Sophia stared at the young prince, a knot of anxiety filling her stomach as she watched the usually unwavering confidence of her charge crumble before her eyes. She cursed herself for her selfishness. She had been so absorbed in how the confidence of herself and the 203rd had been rocked by the injuries the pair of geniuses had taken, she hadn't stopped to think how it might affect the young prince.

He had been following Major Degurechaff's career since she earned the silver wings back in Norden, he idolised her and had modelled much of his military career after her. He'd even attended the formation ceremony of the 203rd before their initial deployment to Dacia, Christina had told her over and over again how excited he had been to see them fly overhead in perfect formation. It would be no exaggeration that he was as enraptured by the heroic tales of White Silver as everyone else had been.

Even after they met in person, Prince Wilhelm's admiration of the Major and her deeds had not diminished. If anything, it had only grown stronger as he grew closer to the girl behind the legend and she knew that the boy had come to care deeply for her. Tanya Degurechaff was as much of an inspiration to the Prince as he was to so many others. Perhaps deep down he believed she was as infallible as she and Christina saw him. If witnessing Major Degurechaff receive such a beating had rattled even her closest subordinates, how could it not affect the boy who worshipped her as a hero? Especially while in such a state of exhaustion and injury.

"The way she looked at me…" He continued his hoarse voice dripping with guilt-ridden hurt as he seemed to get more and more distant. His eyes suddenly looked empty and lifeless. "It was like she…I should have gotten here sooner."

Her chest ached sympathetically, after all, she felt the same way about him, but more than that she felt her anxiety grow further. She'd only seen the prince like this once before, back in the south when Christina had been injured trying to protect him. Much like with Letzenbourg and Hausmann, he had blamed himself, but unlike with the city, the shock caused him to break down and send everyone away from him. He would only put himself in further danger if he did the same again now.

"You shouldn't blame yourself." She replied, gently taking his uninjured hand in hers. "You can't control everything that happens, the battlefield is too chaotic. There was nothing more you could have done."

She felt hypocritical saying those words, her own absence from the fight that had caused him so much damage made her feel just as responsible for his own injuries. But she knew things weren't as simple as that, they'd both done what they thought was best at the time. It was something he should have known too. He had been the one to teach her that it wasn't worth dwelling on such mistakes, it wasn't like him to second guess himself like this.

He paused and broke his gaze from Degurechaff, fixing her with a strange look as he pulled his hand free from hers. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten as his eyes tried to focus on her, it almost seemed as though this was the first time he had truly registered her presence since she had arrived.

"I could have been there sooner. I should have been!" He replied, frustrated certainty in his tired and pain-filled eyes. "If it hadn't been for…"

He paused, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as he let out a hiss of restrained anger through his teeth before falling silent. She heard him wheeze as he took a long pain pain-filled breath, balling his good hand into a fist as he tried to control the trembling across his body. Sophia felt her stomach tie itself further in knots as she worried what he might say next but gradually the shaking began to fade away and he began to relax his fingers.

"I'm tired of being on the defensive." He said eventually, opening his eyes once more, a spark of defiance returning to his emerald orbs. Sophia wasn't sure if she should be elated or troubled by them. He had sounded just as certain after the attack in the south, she could not allow him to send her away again, it was too dangerous for him. "I have too much to lose."

"Prince Wilhelm." She began, placing her hands on his shoulders as she forced a stern tone into her voice despite the unease in her stomach. She was all too aware that the boy would find a way to send her from his side if he took the idea into his head, regardless of what she did to try and prevent it. She needed to nip this problem in the bud now. "The only way you will lose anything is by being reckless. I know you're good at making spur-of-the-moment choices but we're safe for now. You don't need to make any rash decisions. Give yourself time to heal."

She wasn't sure what he had meant by being on the defensive, or what he might have had in mind, but she was certain that it was something better dealt with after he had recovered. At the very least he wouldn't make another panicked decision based solely on his concern for those he cared about.

The boy raised a tired eye in confusion, looking at her with bemusement. She'd done her best to emulate Christina, she had always been the voice of authority in their little family, at least in cases like this. She had been better at finding fun things for them to do, like smuggling them both into the kitchens for a late-night snack or into secure offices to find out interesting information. She supposed it must have seemed odd for him to hear a reprimand from her. Still, she had to press on.

"I know how it feels to see someone you care for hurt, and I know how terrifying it is to think of it happening again." She continued, pulling the boy into a gentle hug. "But you don't need to try doing everything on your own."

A moment of silence passed between them as the young prince stood stock still, stiff and silent in her arms and not for the first time did she wish that she knew what was going through the young boy's mind. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she felt his arm on her back as he leaned in to reciprocate the gesture, his body relaxing a fraction as the tension began to lift from the air.

"Thank you, Sophia, I could not do this without you." He whispered by her ear, a rasp in his voice telling her the embrace might not have been helping much with his struggled breathing. However, the words soothed her worries as they released each other and the little prince treated her to a weak but loving smile. She could tell his words were genuine.

"You're right, we'll need to rest up. Even I can see that." He continued, slowly breaking the embrace as playfulness, along with a glimmer of his usual cunning self, returning to his eyes despite the obvious pain he was in. "But that doesn't mean we have to sit completely idle."

"Sir?" She questioned as the boy turned back towards Major Degurechaff, his aura of confidence returning once more, in spite of his battered state, while a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he considered their next move, a sense of calm calculation overriding the boy's earlier despondency.

"Have the Ministry of Foreign Affairs completed their investigation of what happened in Moscau?" He asked in a low voice, his gaze not shifting from the young major.

"They have, my Prince." She began, not bothering to disguise the confusion in her voice wrought by the sudden shift in topic. "They're undeniably angry, they know that any sort of a political solution or even just a ceasefire is unthinkable after what we did to the Federation Capital. They would love to have a scapegoat but they know the General Staff would be vehemently against punishing anyone over this. After all, Major Degurechaff was only following orders."

It would be insane for anyone in the foreign office to attempt to throw Degurechaff under the bus. Even if it were possible to use her punishment as a way to placate the Russy government and pave a way towards peace talks, it would destroy morale amongst both the soldiers and the general populace. The military would never accept it.

"I don't suppose you have any dirt on anyone in the ministry that could change their minds?" The boy added hopefully, however, he didn't sound as though he held much hope.

"Nothing that would convince them to commit career suicide." She replied, unhappily. She'd been stoking the fires through some contacts as per the prince's orders and she still had a share of Canaris's secrets about certain politicians that she could use, but she knew it wouldn't be enough. The horses had been led to water, but she couldn't force them to drink from an obviously poisoned trough.

"What if someone gave them the impression that the General Staff would support them?" The Prince questioned, voice sounding far too innocent for the deceit he was proposing. "I hear that even that old bull Rudersdorf thinks she went too far."

It was a lie, in the completest sense of the word. All her contacts in the General Staff had confirmed that they were taking a united stance against any backlash from the civilian arm of government, especially the foreign ministry. As far as she knew General Rudersdorf, although acknowledging that the 203rd had been a little overzealous, was pleased to see the enemy so thoroughly humiliated. Of everyone in the General Staff, it was probably fair to say he was the least bothered by the results of the attack. However, it was the exact thing the foreign minister wanted to hear, and she could easily persuade some of her contacts to feed that information to him. However, she still had her doubts it would work.

"But what about the political fallout, the morale of the people and the troops?" She replied, her confusion growing as the knot of anxiety crept back into her stomach. She wondered whether she should put a stop to all this for now, at least until the Prince had some time to sleep and recuperate. "The foreign minister might be appointed by the Emperor, but no politician would risk angering the public like this."

"Yes, I'm sure all parties would prefer the hearing to be private." The boy said distantly, still watching as the Major sipped on a cup of coffee brought to her by her adjutant. "Fortunately, the General staff will take care of that for us. They don't want it to get out either."

His eyes flickered for a moment and he glanced back towards her.

"Can you do it?"

"Yes, my Prince." She began, shifting uneasily in her boots. "But I have to ask. What do you stand to gain? Even with all this, the outcome will be the same! There is no way the General Staff will agree to punish Degurechaff."

"Good!" The boy returned turning and fixing her with a wide grin. "I don't want anything to happen to her."

"But then, why all this?"

"I told you, I'm tired of being on the defensive." He replied, his grin darkening as fire burned in his eyes. "Just like the Empire, it's time we went on the attack."

Authors Notes

Hi all and as always thank you all for reading, reviewing and favouriting. It took a little longer than hoped to get this one ready but that is mostly because I left the country.

This chapter is a bit of a wind down from the previous ones, but that is to be expected after we reached the climax of the arc. However, because of this I wonder a bit if it feels a little slow or like its just getting us from A to B. That said, we need to get from A to B so we can continue so I probably shouldn't worry about it too much.

I think at some point I had a lot to say about this chapter but my brain is still in vacation mode and refuses to work too hard so I'll let you judge it without my usual excuses.

As a reminder I am now using Twitter/X and Bluesky to keep people up to date with the Saint and other writing projects (although I haven't been doing an especially good job so far but will try harder. So please feel free to follow Lord_Solus (no underscore on Bluesky) if you wish. I will also be adding the art that I have from the Saint once I've gotten permission from the artists.

Thank you again for reading.

Xanen (Aka Lord Solus)