Chapter Six - The East:
3 YAP:
The Æther radio was on – Worce liked to know what was going on in Empyrea.
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“And the Tenth Prime Minister of the Pheasantine Republic, Aria East, has recently unveiled her support for the Æther Defence Force proposal to create a fleet for the protection of the Northeast, North-Northeast, East, and East-Southeast sector.”
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Worce remembered Signing the Narcissian Invasion Plan – basically an unofficial declaration of war – for Earl Maximillian Bigot Ego (who went by his middle name mostly) three years ago.
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It never went ahead because of his son.
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Before the bitterness that had been omnipresent in Worce since his retirement could resurface there was a sharp rap at the door before it opened.
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Harvester entered with Azure trailing behind him. “I got accepted as Sergeant, the reviewer was the son of a Coalition War veteran.”
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Azure looked extremely annoyed about something. “That Earl has removed the GNA Caeli from the Aeronautical Museum because it is not Æther powered. Even worse, he has forced many experienced High-Commanders to retire despite being advised by both Aeroadmiral of the Fleet Empyr and Grand Vizier Anastasia against it. Lastly, his pacifist wife has blocked the proposal to send the Central Force to Umbracrest to give the Archduchy leverage in ongoing negotiations.”
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Worce had expected Harvester to get accepted.
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“Congratulations. We will start at the arrival at Ahoj” he said trying his best to avoid the current events in Narciss.
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45 YBP:
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We had been on the move for most of the day, the rhythmic march of boots on earth creating a steady beat in time with the war drums. Their high spirits were the fruit of the measures I had taken to ensure a rapid advance. Firstly, I had ordered the band to play famous martial songs and tunes, the familiar marches helped to quicken their pace. The purpose of this campaign was clear to every soldier, regardless of rank: we were to knock the Estrin Dominion out of the war completely, avenging our fallen comrades in the process. The promise of respect and rewards once the war was won was a powerful motivator.
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The formation I had chosen was practical and effective—three long columns split down to the platoon level. This arrangement allowed for swift movement and maintained our combat readiness. Additionally, I had granted the men permission to entertain themselves within reason, so long as they remained in formation. The sound of laughter and song intermingled with the martial tunes, creating a tapestry of morale that was as vital as any weapon.
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However, the presence of Grand Wing A of the Grand Narcissian Fleet above us provided the most significant boost to morale. The friendly airships, authorised by Marshal of the Grand Army Scipio, were a tangible show of our own strength. Their white and gold paint glistened in the sunlight, a constant reminder of our supremacy in the skies and a comforting sight to the troops below. The Dominion would not trouble us in the air, as their Aerial Fleet was around a quarter of the Grand Narcissian Fleet's eighty-eight airships.
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Myself and my staff rode on horses, a privilege of our status as command officers. The steady clop of hooves on the ground punctuated the marching feet of the soldiers. As we advanced, I turned to Lieutenant General Fyro, who was observing the sappers with a look of disdain. They were trading stories, telling jokes, and singing songs, their camaraderie a stark contrast to Fyro’s stern composure.
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“Lieutenant General Fyro,” I addressed him, noting the tension in his expression, “do you know any weaknesses in the Khagan’s armies?”
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Fyro glanced at me, his face a mask of contemplation. “I may be half-Estrin, Charles, but that does not mean I am an archive of their secrets. I do know that the land forces—with the exception of the cavalry—tend to move slower, if that helps.”
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I had suspected as much. The surname Noyan was very much of the East, and Fyro’s heritage lent credence to his insights. His disdain for the sappers was understandable; they were a rowdy lot, but their skills were indispensable when one wanted something built or broken.
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We rode in silence for a while (after the combat engineers had shut up) the landscape around us gradually changing. The terrain grew rougher, more hostile, as we approached the minor defensive outpost near Ahoj. The outpost was a modest structure, more a warning station than a stronghold, but its strategic position on a low hill gave it a commanding view of the surrounding area.
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The men grew more focused as we neared our target. The band shifted to a more somber tune, the martial music now a background hum to the preparations for battle. Scouts moved ahead, their figures barely visible against the rocky outcrops and sparse trees that dotted the landscape.
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“Grand-General,” reported a scout, returning from his reconnaissance, “we’re within visual range of the outpost.”
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I nodded, my mind already working through the strategy for the assault. “Lieutenant General Fyro, detach a Jäger Division.
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Fyro saluted, “The Grand-General shalt have the 68th Division.”
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The men moved with practiced efficiency, artillery pieces unlimbered and positioned with quiet precision. Jäger units fanned out, preparing to advance under the cover of the artillery barrage.
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The defenders of the outpost finally stirred. Through my binoculars, I watched as they scrambled to man their positions, their movements frantic and panicked. The Estrin soldiers had grown complacent.
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“Begin the bombardment,” I told my new aide.
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Lord Sergeant-Major Lancewood was shocked that I would ask him to start it but did as he was told.
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“Begin the bombardment!” repeated the senior Non-commissioned officer in a baritone voice.
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The sky was torn asunder by the thunderous roar of our cannons. Shells arced through the air, trailing smoke and fire before crashing down on the outpost. Explosions blossomed like deadly flowers, sending plumes of earth and debris skyward. The ground shook with the force of the bombardment, the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder.
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I watched with grim satisfaction as the outpost’s defenses began to crumble. Walls collapsed, and fires broke out, adding to the chaos. The defenders’ return fire was sporadic and ineffectual, their spirit already broken by the relentless assault.
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“Advance!” my voice cut through the din, and the Jägers surged.
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They moved with a precision that was almost mechanical, rifles at the ready, bayonets gleaming. The older men led the charge against the smoke and flames. They moved like shadows, swift and deadly, cutting down any who stood in their path.
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The outpost fell within minutes. The defenders, outnumbered and outmatched, either fled or were cut down when they began to pour out of the shattered outpost. The Narcissian forces swept through the outpost, securing it and capturing the more cowardly easterners.
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Fyro reappeared at my side along with Sixteen Grand Warlords, for once the man seemed pleased. He looked along the line of captured men and roughly yanked one out of the line.
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“This one is the Minghan commander of one thousand men.”
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I nodded. I looked at the man in command of the outpost with contempt.
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“Doth thou have anything valuable to tell me?” O asked him politely despite already knowing the answer I would get.
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“The Narcissians would be better off capturing someone more important than me and my little outpost.”.
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I agreed.
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One badly beaten man came surging out of the line. “We found this one in a holding cell.” Remarked one of the Jägers.
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“I-i have something to tell thou, there is a growing resistance movement in the East that I’m apart of, the Khagans lackeys in that line found out and beat me up before chucking me in the cage.”
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I thought for a moment. Weighing the ethics of what I was considering. I made a choice.
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“Aim at the line!” I told the Jägers.
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Immediately there was the loud click of rifles being levelled at the line of captured soldiers. The eyes of the Minghan nearly bulged out his head and he scrambled to speak. “What art thou doing, prisoners of war are protected!” he screamed at me.
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“So were the diplomats sent to the East. Among then was the Hieress to the Earldom and the Grand Vizier of the Conclave. All of them were killed. And also, Minghan, if we were in the same position would thou not do the same?”
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The commander of one thousand knew that he was beat, he offered no response.
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“Fire.”
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The main room of the Minor Outpost near Ahoj filled with the acrid stench that guns made. Fifty bodies littered the floor. I took out my new pistol and squeezed the trigger. The Minghan collapsed to the ground to make fifty-one.
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My entire staff was assembled outside neatly. It consisted of sixteen Grand Warlords and Lieutenant Generals Starfall, Eos, Spalla, and Fyro for each of the Field Armies.
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Starfall's elevated rank was temporary. He would be made Grand Warlord if he did well.
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3 YAP:
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“They were shot?!” asked a shocked Sergeant Harvester.
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Worce and Azure exchanged a look. “A common occurrence at the time, not something that we would get away with in this Era, though.” Was what Azure told the Sergeant.
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“Everyone committed atrocities, War is not an adventure despite what the recruitment officer may have told all those young men.” Worce lamented.
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“Thou went to Crackstone Pass next, Grand-General, I remember surveying the area.”
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“Indeed.”
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45 YBP:
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Solaris had made an appearance, apparently having been made a Grand Warlord when the previous decided to retire early – very expensive, the fee was 500,000 Narcs, but the man was in line to inherit the title of Baron as it had only been in his family for two generations of the five that is allowed – and was very smug about skipping the rank of War Brigadier.
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“What's at Crackstone Pass, Charlie?” he said.
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I hated being called Charlie, especially by him.
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“Call me that again, Solaris, and I will not have thou demoted or put in an airship brig....I will have thou shot!”
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Solaris did not seem worried, but nodded nonetheless.
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He turned to look at the Eastern Revolutionary.
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“Oi, art there any estrin Armies near here?” Solaris called to him.
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“No!”
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We made it through Crackstone Pass without incident.
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After consulting the maps we had brought and added markers to we identified the settlement nearby as a town called Uranjir.
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The sappers began setting up their Mortars without being told to.
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I got off my horse slowly, grabbed my new cane, and began to walk towards them.
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The walking cane was a gift from Marshal of the Grand Army Scipio, its matte black wood was glossy and apparently only grew in Aquiloria. It had a gilded spike on the bottom allowed for the traversal of rough terrain.
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Upon closer inspection, the handle could be twisted off to reveal a steel blade that was as sharp as it was shiny.
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The Sappers were arguing amongst themselves about the mortars. “I have carried this bloody thing for ages!” one complained within earshot.
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“Put those away! If we need to bombard the town then we can have the airships fire on it.” I ordered them with exasperation. They all snapped to attention when they turned around and saw me.
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I nodded to myself and walked away.
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The town was being asked to give up food supplies via a loudhailer. I could hear them protesting angrily.
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A private run up to me, he was sweating profusely. “They...won’t...give...huff..us....the...food...s-sir.” He said with great difficulty.
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I knew they would flat out refuse to give us food and surrender, in reality it was an excuse to order the town be looted and shelled. I sent my aide off to get Lieutenant Generals Spalla and Fyro.
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The hooves clattered against the ground as they appeared before me.
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“Order the 54th, 57th, 66th, and 69th Support Jäger Divisions to loot anything valuable from the town, shoot anyone that fights back.” I told them both as I pulled out a long range radio.
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“Grand Wing A, this is Grand-General Worce. I need confirmation that all craft have visual on Uranjir.” I said into it.
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There was a pause of five minutes before they replied.
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“Affirmative, all craft have visual on Uranjir.” Came the slightly muffled and static filled response.
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I pressed the button and spoke again, “Move in and have the escort destroyers deploy thermal ordnance on my command.”
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There was the sound of gunfire and screaming, I walked over to and then through the wooden gates that lay splintered.
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There was a crowd gathered watching helplessly as Support Jägers stole everything they could get. I noticed something that chilled me down to the marrow in my bones.
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There was an old man approaching me. A face with deep crevices etched into the skin as if tiny people had mined it all it was worth. His eyes were sunken pits that wept constantly, with irises that seemed to have died a long time ago, the whites seem cloudy, like a fog that refuses to lift, and the eyelids looked thin and translucent and whispered a warning that at any time they could shatter like delicate glass.
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His nose is a small, bent thing. The lips are thin and pursed, pulled back to reveal a sparse crop of yellowing teeth that seem to be slowly crumbling away. The mouth has faint blue tint around the edges that hints at poor circulation around it.
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His hair – or what was left of it – was a brittle, rather pitiful thing the hue of steel.
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The old man's body looked a gaunt and skeletal thing, with long fingers that seem to be grasping for something just out of reach. His arms thin and ended in clawed hands.
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His torso is concave. The legs long and spindly.
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Despite his advanced age, I spotted something unsettlingly youthful about his eyes, something that seems almost... malevolent. They seem to be aware of some dark secret that only he knows, some hidden truth that he is jealously hiding behind his sunken face and gaunt frame.
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Or it is a private joke? The man appears to smile without moving any facial muscles.
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“Greetings, Grand-General, and welcome to Uranjir...” The old man said in a rasp.
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It unnerved me as soon as I heard it, it was eerie to the nth degree.
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“To be forgotten is thy fate. But I shalt remember thou. Oh, I will remember every moment of cruelty, every flicker of the flames that will be dropped soon, and every drop of blood that’s spilled. For in the end, it’s not the destruction that thou have wrought that will huant every waking moment, but the fact that thou will be left alone, forgotten by the very region that thou fight to defend. The grandson of the current ruler and his generation will dishonour thou, and then....thou shalt die.”
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I leaned on my cane as both legs turned to jelly and a cold rage filled me. Only there was something else, an innate sense that this man was unnatural, a tumour on Empyrea. A cancer.
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“W-who art thou?” I asked him.
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“I am sickness. I am pestilence and plague. I have been here before and I will be after. I am the servant of something truly magnificent....” The old man said in his raspy whisper.
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My discipline crumbled, and I scrambled to get away from this man.
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“We art leaving men, drop anything in thy arms, it doth not matter!” I called to the support jägers. They marched out the gate in four neat columns, with myself limping after them in my rush to get away from the situation. I pulled out the long-range radio again and pressed the button, my hands shook violently.
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“S-s-send them in!”
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I watched as ten smaller airships steamed through the skies and over Uranjir. There was a whistling sound before everything turned into heat and light.
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It was getting dark. The flames engulfing the town danced gleefully as it burned. A single figure walked out, his clothes being aflame did not appear to bother him.
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It was that bloody old man.
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“Thou did not let me finish, Grand-General!” he said at a volume audible to everyone.
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“I am a slave to the Serpent. Therefore, I am the Serpent. The Tormentor. Him.” He hissed.
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I blinked. Where the old man had stood there was now a colossal black snake, it was the half the diameter of the gate.
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“Aim!” the single word was bellowed by every officer in my army. All of them in unison. Ego Lieutenants, Captain-Commanders, War Brigadiers, Grand Warlords, and Lieutenant Generals.
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The sound of several different types of firearm being aimed at the snake filled the air, those at the back moved to the sides to form a huge, unbroken curve of men who been able to obey – the first row had dropped to one knee to allow the second to take aim.
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“Fire!” someone yelled.
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The light and shadows of the setting sun was pierced by flashes of light as everyone fired. The rat tat tat of the Richard Mark Two machine guns continued even when the Infantry ceased firing to reload.
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“Cease fire!” I called.
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The order was repeated by Lord Sergeant-Major Lancewood at a far greater volume.
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Everything went silent, the snake was gone.
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3 YAP:
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“I find the bit about the giant snake hard to believe Worce, I doubt that is in the history books.” Remarked Azure.
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“Ask anyone that was there, they will swear it.” Worce snapped, knowing fine well that the story was hard to believe.
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“Very well I will take thy word for it.” He said with exasperation.
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“Er...What next, sir?” Sergeant Harvester asked timidly.
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“Well, Grand Wing A split its Destroyers and Escort Destroyers off from the other airships to accompany us. I sent them to attack the cities of Urai and Aeton.” Worce told him.
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“Aeton? Oh they changed that to Æton.” Said Harvester after a short pause.
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“Yes. As Charles said. The Temporary Flottila was sent to hunt down and destroy the EDS Kraken’s Fury. It was composed of the Battlecruisers Callisto, Rêverie, Alveolar, and my own Caeli. The Heavy Frigates Rectess Rumia, Dir Mi, De Cartè, and Zurine Moraia. And lastly the Frigates Hervör Alviter, Ölŕun, Grosser Kurfürst and Kàra. Worce was given the Destroyers Cygne, Aloe, Estoc, and Falchion in addition to the Escort Destroyers Lady Jennite, Altik, Glouster, Urbis, Iago, Junai, Bonnafide, and Quasi.” Said an Azure that was clearly proud of himself for remembering all the airship names
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“Very impressive, but what of the pendant numbers?” Asked Worce sarcastically, not expecting a reply.
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“BC one, five, eight, and ten. HF seven, ten, twelve, and eleven. FA eight, elev-“ Began the former High-Commander.
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“That’s enough Azure. Next is the events at the city of Eyraelynine after I sent the Second Infantry and the First Assault Armies to pursue a retreating Army – the Eleventh Hordu, if I recall correctly - of around 200,000.”
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“That doth not seem fair, the two Field Armies would have numbered roughly 500,000.”
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“Bloodthirsty riders with an almost fanatical devotion to the Khagan and Gur Khan likely did not care much for things being fair when they outnumbered us.”
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“A fair point, sir, was Eyraelynine not captured by the Pheasantine Rebels?” Queried the Sergeant.
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“Aye.”
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45 YBP:
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We had decided to ignore the city we were passing in favour of continuing on, that was until Sergeant Nova told me he could see flares being sent up and smoke over the city. My curiosity changed my mind.
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The gates were, much to me and men’s surprise, open. And these were not tacky little wooden things built into temporary walls. They were things of steel set into permanent fortifications, Eyraelynine was a fortress city.
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On entry we were greeted with a rambunctious welcome from armed citizens brandishing swords, rifles, pitchforks, scythes, cleavers, ect. There was an army present and for a tense moment the men approached my own.....and saluted before clapping them on the back in a friendly manner.
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“Who is command of our Narcissian friends?” I hear someone say, they all pointed at me.
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“Ah, you must be a Grand-General, we saw the rest of you chasing am Army of the Khagan. I was Tumen Noyan Macro but now I am Comrade Macro” the man said. I knew a little about the rank of Tumen Noyan: firstly, it was a commander of ten thousand. Secondly, Fyro's father had been one. Thirdly, they did not wear uniforms like what Macro did.
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Lieutenant General Fyro was suspicious of this. “Thou wears the garb of a Bek, which is roughly equivalent to our Lieutenant Generals.” He said with a glare.
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The man smiled at him and replied, “I am a revolutionary! As for the uniform....we killed the bek in charge of the force present here, they art friendly I promise!”
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I took his words for it, the Eastern soldiers – who belonged to what used to be the Fourth Hordu and what us now the Peoples Army – were getting along well with my own: Soldiers and Dari swapped stories and talked of home with Infantry, Jangars joked with junior officers and Minghans played cards with senior ones. The elite Baatur challenged Jägers as well as the support variant to duels, and even won the silent respect of the Valkyries.
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I decided that my campaign could be won faster with the assistance of the Eastern Revolutionaries, and asked Macro where they were to be found.
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“You will find leader of the revolutionaries – Comrade Archie Primrose - in the city of Vassau, which is under our control. It is East-Southeast from here.”
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3 YAP:
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Both Worce and Harvester slowly turned to look at High-Commander Azure. “Is it my turn?” he whispered innocently.
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“Indeed it is. I remember Earl Ignatius announcing that the Kraken’s Fury had been sunk.”
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“I will not delay then....”
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45 YAP:
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The voice of High-Commander Skybreak crackled through the Caeli' radio, it was muffled lightly and hard to hear over the thrum of the mighty Battlecruiser's engines. Nonetheless myself and my bridge crew listened intently for his orders. “We know our task, the EDS Kraken’s Fury has been confirmed to be in the area by reconnaissance vessels from Grand Wing B. Upon sighting, the Heavy Frigates art to draw the enemy superweapons fire away from the Frigates so they can torpedo it. Battlecruisers art not to fire. Everyone understand?”
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I looked over at the GNA Callisto – Skybreaks own vessel – to see him listening intently at the radio, I radioed in my understanding.
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A large shape came into view shortly after. I did not need the radar contact to be announced to know this, it was such a huge green blob on that screen that it was visible from where I stood.
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The EDS Kraken’s Fury appeared every bit the war machine it was against the Eastern waters in was in. The overcast conditions provided the Estrin Superbattleship an air of menace. A huge steel fortress plonked down in the sea by the hand of a god of war, a short-tempered giant that bristled with needle-like guns.
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There was a thunderclap as the giant awoke. And another. The Frigates were moving in under the protection of their heavier brothers and sisters. I saw a streak of blue soar past my bridge after a near miss with a nearby Heavy Frigate.
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“Half our current speed. Helmsman! Port ten degrees” ordered the helmsman. The command to reduce to half speed was relayed to the engine room.
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I looked down at the great expense of blue below us, I asked for binoculars was handed a pair. I focused the fuzzy view with careful adjustments until everything became sharper and clearer.
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Three white and gold airships were steaming towards the Eastern superweapon. Which was sending up wave upon wave of crackling blue streaks in anger. One airship limped away from the gauntlet without releasing any of its bombs or the device it carried.
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Each of the Frigates and Heavy Frigates had been outfitted with a silver bullet of sorts after the Battle of the Golden Bay. It the experimental PHEO (Propelled High-Explosive Ordnance) device, specifically designed in Luxequinox to destroy the Kraken’s Fury.
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I focus my binoculars on the airsip moving away from the target, its nameplate reads: GNA Kara (FA-9).
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I identify the remaining airships as Hervör Alviter (FA-8) and the heavy frigate, De Cartè (HF-12).
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The former abandons its run, but heavy cruiser steams through the air to get within striking distance of the PHEO Device.
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Two rapidly moving objects stream from the airship. The first lands in the ocean harmlessly. The second slams into the stern of the ship, a spout of sparks and smoke appears, followed by a fountain of flame. The boom causes many on my bridge to wince.
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The ship slows to a stop. It is dead in the water. The device had presumably atomised the steam engines.
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The muffled, static-filled voice of High-Commander Skybreak came on the radio. “Battlecruisers move in and disable the guns so that we can board that blasted thing.”
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“Full speed! Open fire when in range.”
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A burst of bright blue came from the main armament of the EDS ship penetrated the side of Callisto but did not hit anything important.
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All of the Battlecruisers fired at much the same time. The deck of the Kraken’s Fury was burning at the stern; one of its four mighty twin gun turrets was a twisted, smoking ruin.
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The ship tried desperately to fight back with its primary in addition to secondary coil guns, but soon found that it had none left and had been battered by heavy bombardment.
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The ship fell silent.
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I radioed GNA Callisto “We art sending down a boarding party, sir.”
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I went down with said boarders.
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The hull was charred and burning, inside there was the mangled remains of steam driven engines, in one room – likely the barracks – there was a mess of gore splattered everywhere, at least ten bodies could be seen.
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We entered into the bridge. Everyone still alive on the ship was gathered here, it was a sorry sight.
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The most senior officer on the ship introduced himself Noyan Squi and welcomed us aboard humbly. The Khagan’s Navy was respectful to anyone that could win against it.
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“The EDS Kraken’s Fury has been rendered unmanoeuvrable and has no useful weapons left. If you take us with thou I shalt give up the ship's log, the unique flag of the ship it carries in addition to that of the Warlord of the Waves.”
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Noyan Squi explained that the complement of Baatur marries had been killed by a stray shell and that the Warlord of the Waves – commander of all the Dominion's naval forces – had committed suicide in disgrace before he handed me the log.
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“Let us get the flags then.”
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He ordered that the flags be removed and they were.
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The Red flag was indeed a unique design, a Kraken sat in the centre, its tentacles wrapped around the emblem of the Dominion (a black diamond).
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The personal ensign of the Warlord of the Waves was in tatters, having been damaged by a nearby shell impact.
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“Thou will be a High-Commander, yes? In our respective regions I am ranked higher than thou. But, I am sorry about that, sir.”
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“The flag?”
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“Yes”
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“It does not matter.”
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3 YAP:
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“Alas when we returned it was discovered that High-Commander Skybreak had died from cardiac arrest. Apparently he had heart problems. “ Finished Azure.
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He got up and left without another word.
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“I assume the next bit is the negotiations with the Eastern Revolutionaries?”
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“Yes, it shalt not take long.”
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45 YBP:
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The city of Vassau was the antithesis of Uranjir. Revolutionaries marked through the streets belting out inflammatory lyrics. However, the most noticeable difference was in the regular people: they were much more relaxed and lively than those I saw in Uranjir.
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I wasted no time in going to meet the leader of the resistance in the East.
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“Comrade” Archibald Primrose was a jovial, amicable man in his mid to late forties. I was not interested in small talk and therefore launched right in.
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“Comrade Primrose, here are our terms for assisting thy resistance: firstly, I need the destruction of the Battlecruiser EDA Eye of the Dominion to happen, the Eye has been a menace to our ground units and fortifications whenever it has appeared. It has not attacked for a while.” I told him.
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Primrose nodded. “I heard that the flagship of the Khagan’s Navy had been sunk recently. The Eye appears to be undergoing repair and or maintenance in a port near Orolyine, our next target, so if we find it we shalt indeed destroy it.”
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I was no diplomat, but we had a common goal, so they had no reason to refuse any of the Northeast demands. “Secondly, the East must formally withdraw from the Coalition. Our third requirement is war materials from the East for the remainder of the war.” I crossed my arms as I told the balding man both of these.
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“Done.” He said simply.
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“We need freedom to move troops and airships through the East to invade Aquiloria and Vorantis. Lastly, I personally require some of those flame projectors that the Khagan’s Army supposedly has if thou has any.”
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At this point, I realised that the leader of the Eastern Revolutionaries would not be likely to roll over and give in to our demands without making some of his own.
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He chuckled and spoke again after some thought. “We agree to these demands, but as you are probably thinking, we need a few things in return. Once we manage to topple the Khagan’s Government we will create a Republic in its place, we need the sovereign recognition of Narciss. We have no flame projectors unfortunately, but we could really benefit from some of those Rosin Mark Three Rifles if there are any to spare. Additionally, we want the Northeast to defend the East if the Coalition should declare war on it. Lastly, there is no reason that our respective regions cannot have friendly relations after the war, the Northeast and East are neighbours.”
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“These demands are acceptable. But why the Rosin's? Why not the Narian-Gloriant 63s, the Richard machine gun, or even the Valkyrie YB-51?” I asked, interested as to why he wanted the Rifles used by Jägers.
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“They are easier to use apparently, and I thought you would give them up more easily.” He retorted.
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“I think we have around 50,000 Rosins that we can give thou.”
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3 YAP:
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“And that’s its for my Campaign in the East. When thou return I will discuss only one Battle in the Aquilorian Campaign. The Fall of Fort Bigunn is by far the most important, and the Second Infantry Army Group played a more impactful role in the other battles.”
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Sergeant Harvester's eyes lit up. “Did the Aquilorians not have a giant Artillery installation at Fort Bigunn?”
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Worce chuckled, a rare event. “Aye, the Southeast had something called the Mortar of Merit. Its not the only superweapon I will be discussing. The Campaign in the South was some of my last battles. We encountered a war machine that the Vorantine were very proud of: the Steamhammer Mk.II Tank.”
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“Isn’t that in a museum?”
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“Oh yes, I have seen it. It nearly killed me, I harbour it no ill will. Its a beautiful beast.”
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“I see. Goodbye, sir.”
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Chapter Seven + Epilogue:
3 YAP:
Worce invited Sergeant Harvester into his abode to continue their work. Earlier that day, a letter had arrived in a sealed envelope from the Administration Centre in Worcestershire. It was yellowed slightly with the relentless march of time – a force that the sole remaining member of the ancient House of Worce was well acquainted with.
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“What is the letter?” Came the predictable question.
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“It is one that I received from Grand-General Valour of the 2nd Infantry Army Group in 45 YBP that I requested from the archives in a letter sent to High-Exarch Quill. It arrived far more rapidly than I assumed it would. Do the postmen now wear winged shoes?” Was the answer.
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Harvester muttered something about Ætherical bicycles being used by the postal services – he knew fine well just how suspicious the older generations could be of the advancements after the end of the Great Age of Steam.
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Worce removed the letter in the manner of a trained archivist. And began to read,
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Dear Grand-General Charles A. Worce,
I hear that the recent revolt in the Estrin Dominion was thy doing. The invasion of Aquiloria has seen us steamroll the southeast…until we got to Fortress Bigunn. They have some sort of Superweapon there that is menacing my forces. I need thou to bring the 3rd Assault Army Group to take down the fort. I will then take Artè to knock the southeast out of the war. We can then both invade Vorantis. Do not bring the 1st Infantry Army Group as it shalt only slow us down. I am sending a similar letter to Grand-General Steelraine so that we will have artillery to divide between us.
Grand-General Valour of the 2nd Infantry Army Group
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Harvester considered what he had heard with care, slowly shifting from one potential line of questioning to another. He chose one.
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“The Mortar of Merit…. why was it so dangerous?”
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Worce frowned at this. “There was a study undertaken by a Master Adept a few years before the war that caused quite a stir in Narciss. He found that the Thermobaric shells that the weapon fired worked by dispersing an aerosol could of fuel before detonating a second charge to create the powerful blast wave. He also investigated the effects on the human body. He stated in his publication that the effects were unique….and unpleasant. What kills is the pressure wave and, more importantly, the subsequent vacuum that ruptures the lungs. If the shell ignites the fuel but fails to detonate properly, victims will be horribly burned and will probably inhale the burning fuel. Even worse, the fuel-air explosive chemicals are highly toxic. And that is only the people caught in the area. The shockwave could burst the eardrums of anyone within ten meters of the impact.”
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A grisly weapon indeed.
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“Anyway….”
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43 YBP:
Valour had asked me to come to Aquliora to take down Fortress Bigunn. I sent Lieutenant Generals Starfall and Eos to defend the east. Even the Valkyries were not prepared for the carnage we would find at the fort.
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I could see two standards around the bottom of the hill that served as the base of Fort Bigunn. The ground was pot marked with shallow craters, some filled in with mud. The entire landscape was one of ash and charred remains of men. A body lay nearby, it was burned right down to the bone in some places. Fat had bubbled up and hardened into yellowish lumps that looked much like tumours. However, the poor chaps face was by far the worst part of it all; I simply could not manage to tear gaze anywhere else. The helmet had melted and become a sickness aberration of waxy skin and streaks of metal. Some had solidified below the bloody gaps where his eys once were – had they burst? – and had the stomach-churning effect of making it look like the eyeless head was crying. Crying the tears of iron that might be seen if one decided to melt down a mechanically enhanced solider from the Technocracy of Vorantis.
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The standards came from the 8th Infantry Corps. The use of binoculars allowed us to identify the Divisions: the 25th and 26th. Forty thousand men had been sent here, and forty thousand had been cooked alive by whatever the Aquilorians had in that fortress. War is not an adventure; it is a grinder with teeth that cut naïve young men into mincemeat.
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Attacking Fort Bigunn directly was more like self-immolation than suicide, but the effect was the same: a painful demise. I needed ideas. I called Fyro and Spalla over to discuss potential methods to take the fort. “Tunnelling would take too long, and we lack the time for a siege. Do either of thou have any alternatives?” I asked.
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Lieutenant General Spalla looked over at the Sappers. “We could try Mortars?” he said carefully. Fyro scoffed at the suggestion. “We might as well be throwing stones at the walls for the good that will do. Give me two Platoons of Valkyries, and I will take the fort.”
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“I think both might be applicable if combined. Since thou art so confident, Fyro, thou shalt personally lead three platoons with each man two meters away from the next. Meanwhile, Lieutenant General Spalla has both combat engineering Corps set up the Mortars on that ridge over there.” I told them both.
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They got to work immediately, the sappers moved up on the ridge and began estimating firing arcs while Fyro asked for two platoons to volunteer. Since they were Valkyries, all of them volunteered at once. He picked out the 5,521st and 5,522nd Strike Platoons and gave them my instructions. They all nodded in unison as if he had told them the plan was to eat cakes rather than run directly through the striking radius of an Aquilorian superweapon, break down the gate to a fortress with explosives, and capture everything inside.
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Everything was ready. All that remined was to start the attack. I motioned to a nearby Contrabass Alpenhornist to signal it. He took a deep breath and blew. The 24,000 mortars began firing at the target. I made my way up the ridge to watch the teams at work. Each mortar had five men to operate: the first man is the Crew Leader, who stands behind the mortar and directs the crew. The second man is the Gunner, who is responsible for loading, aiming, and firing the mortar. The third man is Assistant Gunner, who is tasked with assisting the Gunner. The Ammunition Bearer is the role undertaken by the fourth man, and they do exactly what it says on the tin. The fifth and final man is the Spotter, who observes the impact with binoculars and suggests adjustments. In the 4th Artillery Army Group they would most commonly hold the ranks of Gunnery Sergeant (the Crew Leader) and Artilleryman (Same as private and would be held by the other four) although, these were Sapper and therefore these ranks were not applicable to them.
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When they fired, there was a noise that is rather difficult to survive, and then a puff of smoke.
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Lieutenant General Fyro was running, the five hundred men of the two platoons trailed behind him spread out like I had instructed.
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There was a whistling sound. And then the world burned in a bright flash and a viscous shockwave that caused some of the jägers to fall over. The Valkyries kept sprinting at an inhuman pace without seeming to tire at all. The next two shots fail to hit any. The Aquilorians had more luck with the fourth shot from their oversized mortar, there is yet another bright flash of light, and this time around five elite soldiers fall to the ground with the hands at their chest. They would probably suffocate if the lungs had ruptured, but their fate was less painful and far crueller than what happened to Valkyries behind them, who were roasted alive, a small mercy was that the nerves quickly burned away so they stopped feeling anything in their last moments.
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The Aquiloirans continued to fire the superweapon, the shots going more and more wide as they became increasingly desperate. Until they reached the door, and began attaching explosives. Fyro and the rest fell back before someone lobbed a grenade at it. The Aquilorains surrendered.
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It turned to order that the mortars cease the bombardment, but then I realised that they had stopped when elite soldiers had reached the door. I bring my staff – only half of it was present because the rest were with the First and Second Infantry Armies – up to the captured fort, on our way there we put the gasping Valkyries out of their misery, it was far too late to save them.
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The Mortar of Merit lays in pieces after being blown up. A large par that was likely part of the barrel had text on it that said, “M53-YBP THERMOBARIC SUPERWEAPON” apparently Mortar of Merit was a nickname.
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The whimpering crew that fired the thing were more scientists than soldiers. The weapon was probably an experimental unit placed here by the orders of some Meritocrat.
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3 YAP:
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“Is that it?” Harvester asked with a note of surprise in his voice.
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“Yes. The Assault on the South is longer.”
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43 YBP:
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Grand-General Valour's successful capture of Artè – the regional capital of the Meritocracy of Aquiloria – forced the Meritocratic Council to agree to a truce until the war was over and with both the Estrin Dominion and Aquiloria out of the war, only two members of the Coalition Against Narciss remained. The more dangerous of the two is the southern region of Empyrea, the Technocracy of Vorantis, due to the technological advantage it had over Narciss. The other member is the Theocratic Confederacy of Cerulea in the southwest of Empyrea, but Cerulea posed very little threat as the Order of the Dragoon is not meant to function as an army.
The Vorantine would struggle to fight off such a large proportion of the Grand Narcissian Army, though. Three of the four Army Groups – Valour's 2nd Infantry, Steelraine's 4th Artillery, and my own 3rd Assault – amounted to 1.5 million men, or 75% of the entire army. The southern forces – estimated to be around 500,000 – were outnumbered three to one.
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To inspire the men and remind them that victory was near, the tune that was chosen was by far the most famous. Earl Ego's march was written to inspire the men that the greatest narcissian used to crush the bickering micro regions of the Northeast that refused to yield to him. Now, the forces of the 8th and current ruler are fighting to protect the region formed by his 5x great-grandfather in 300 YBP (253 years ago)
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The song has no lyrics. It does not need them. The band starts to play.
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We begin the invasion of the south. I turn to talk with the two Grand-Generals, who are both mounted on horses just as I am. “Steelraine, what has the 4th Artillery Army Group been doing exactly?” I asked.
“Do not blame me, Worce, it is Marshal of the Grand Army Scipio's fault. That fool has too much authority for a glorified advisor to the Earl….is that not what the Grand Vizier is supposed to do?” he retorted angrily.
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Valour decided to chip in while i was occupied with greeting Lieutenant General Napoleon as he had come up beside me.
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“The ranks of Marshal of the Grand Army and Aeroadmiral of the Grand Fleet are largely ceremonial in addition to advisory. They would be out here in person if we did not have a ruler who had no other talent bar picking the right people to do things for him. Half of our rulers ascended by killing their ruling parent, and Lord Maximillian Bigot Ego is seventeen now. Ignatis shalt not last long after the war with an heir that is as cunning as he is ruthless, that lad will be a proper ruler.” He said with a sigh.
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This was true. I will be surprised if Lord Bigot waits for his father to die. I was born during the reign of the popular Countess Nyctra. Unfortunately, she only ruled from 100 to 75 YBP before her rare disease killed her. I voiced this opinion to the two of them.
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“The previous ruler, Countess Nyctra, died too early from that disease. She could not teach Ignatis the art of ruling when she was barely able to move. My father, Master Adept Reinhart Mangrave Worce, was a distinguished fellow of medicine and the personal physician to her eminence. Even the Trainee Adeptus Osteological gave a prognosis of ten years and warned her that childbirth could kill her. Under the care of my father, she lived for twenty-two years after her diagnosis. Speaking of the noble and ancient House of Worce; the founder of it was Lord-General Gustaf Worce, the first High-Exarch of Worcestershire.” I told them proudly.
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“We art nearing the border, what is the plan for this campaign?” asked Lieutenant General Napoleon.
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“Attacking the Technates will anger the Technocratic Directorate and will give us a chance to capture some Technocrats.” Suggested Steelraine.
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“The Technate of Cognor would allow us to siege the regional capital, Austerium. The Technates of Blix, Ekholm, Ravillion, and Cloc would be a waste of our time. Gearpost is a medium-sized outpost near the town of Geari that has a regiment of those enhanced soldiers. As it lies in our path, it could be an excellent opportunity to give the men experience fighting them. We can safely ignore Terra Corr, Southein, Nordhein, Mechanium, Ossau, and Technologensia. If the Vorantine have a fancy weapon, we can disable it.” I told them firmly.
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The sound of metal clanging slowly gets louder as an enemy unit approaches us. Before it can reach a crescendo, a rumbling sound drowns it out.
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The feeling that something is about to happen gnaws away inside me.
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A large explosion eviscerates the artillery crew in front of me. Men begin to panic as the origin of the rumbling sound becomes apparent. Mechanised units. A platoon breaks away and charges up a nearby knoll. The instantly recognisable sound of men screaming and burning meat makes itself known.
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The assault troops move in with bundles of grenades to destroy the enemy units.
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They managed to do this at a steep price. An even louder sound can be heard as something exits the battlefield. The combined staff of three Grand-Generals scrambles to get information from the captured tank crew. Napoleon returns with a worried expression decorating his face. “There is a southern superweapon after all. They call it the Steamhammer mark two. It is the largest armoured unit that the Coalition has on land, and it is equipped with two 28cm main guns and a slew of secondary weapons: one 12.8cm cannon, two 37mm guns, twelve heavy anti-aerial guns, and four autocannons. It also carries a quadruple barrel mortar with thermobaric shells, a smoke generator, and one of those flame projectors. Additionally, the outside armour is electrified somehow. Worst of all, however, is that the thing is bloody fast. How do we destroy it?” said Napoleon with a pessimistic tone.
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The Steamhammer would be a credible threat. Such a large, armoured vehicle would be vulnerable to artillery fire. If it could be trapped, then it would be akin to shooting fish in a barrel with a howitzer.
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“We will draw it out by attacking the Technate of Cognor and then lead it into a trap.” I told him
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3 YAP:
“The Battle of Cognor is noted by historians for being an easy Narcissian victory, and would not really be an interesting part of the book if we include it.”
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Worce was making tea – black, no sugar, just how he liked it – he poured the steaming water from the kettle into his cup, taking extra care not to spill it with his shaking hands (Which had gotten worse as 4 YAP inched closer).
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“Indeed thou art right. Operation Steamhammer is a far more exciting tale than Cognor. It is also a fitting way to lead into the ending of the war as it was my last battle and occurred at the same time as the Battle for the Great Spire.”
“However, it is also a predictable one. Everyone knows that the Steamhammer was trapped and shelled until it was immobile. I will tell thou a different story, Harvester, one that only a handful of people know. The signing of the Treaty of Worcester is a great starting point.”
“Er…let us begin then.”
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