The Nature of War
By Cpl Harlequin,
Brenodi Sixth Infantry Division
Present Day
The sound of the guns was intolerable. There were many facets to the barrage that Alexander hated, the noise, though slightly dampened by the basements roof was the most obvious. It started as a dull rolling thunder as the Brenodi guns opened fire from half a mile away. A hundred guns was enough to perform an very good impression of a thunderstorm, but the sound of the exploding sells were much worse. Alexander found himself truing to pinpoint there locations, but each explosion, echoing through the basement like the laugher of an angry god was followed a moment later by a dozen more and all he could sense was a cloud of explosions, steal, rubble and bodies above him.
That was another thing he hated about the barrage. Like all other squads his were hiding in the basement of a house, and like all others he had his engineers repairing it’s roof as quickly as possible but everyone knew that it could not stand up to a direct hit. The other soldiers could only guess at which other squads had been hit, but for Master Seargent Alexander each and every death was transmitted to him along there communications net. He could hear over his radio as various squads own communications flared and died as a shell exploded in there midst. Occasionally there would be the sound of screaming men, but just as often squads or even entire platoons would just vanish without a whisper.
The ground shook with each explosion, dust rattled down from above and slowly but surely Alexander became more convinced that he was about to die. Every shell that missed you, brought the one that killed you one shell closer. It was a psychological pressure that everyone faced, a suspicion that slowly snuck up on you, a feeling that you were about to die and there was nothing you could do about it.
More shells, more screams and one step closer to death. Alexander pressed himself up against the wall of the basement, as if it would offer any protection. Outside he could imagine the town of Tylis being demolished by the Brenodi artillery, just a few hundred yards away lines of black clad infantry would be waiting to advance the moment the barrage lifted. That was what Alexander hated the most about the barrage, the fact that if they survived there would still have to fight a pitched battle at the end of it. But then again, that was what he hated about the entire war, battle after battle with no side gaining any clear advantage in men, equipment or territory. There was no longer any finesse in the war, at least not of him and the rest of the 2nd Guards Brigade. The war now resembled two groups of men bashing into each other, hoping to cause enough trauma to knock the other guy out long enough to advance a mile or two.
“Son of a-“ One of his soldiers gasped. Alexander glanced to the man, for a moment he was worried he’s been hurt by a wayward piece of shrapnel. “Bloody Brenodi are dropping half a city on us.” The man was short and dark haired, a decent shot at times but prone to fits of exaggeration, not only of his own skill but also of the enemy.
“I doubt they’d waste half a city on this puissant little place Nate.” The second corporal in the squad, a tall and imposing man named Cartwight answered back. “I doubt’s there’s more than a brigades worth of ‘arty’ out there.”
Alexander sighed and pushed the brewing argument out of his mind. His two corporals were good soldiers at times, but they drove each other, and him crazy. Evidently he wasn’t alone in this.
“I wonder which Brigade it is?” One of the engineers said, trying to change the subject.
“It ain’t a brigade, it’s a division at least, perhaps the 5th, or even 6th.” Nate responded.
“Not the 6th, they wouldn’t bother with us.”
“Yeah they would, they need this town as much as we do.”
Alexander, who had heard hundreds of variations of the argument went back to listening to the guns, hoping that the last thing he heard wouldn’t be the sound of his two corporals arguing over there importance.
The sound of the barrage faded away as if some sudden gust of wind and swept up the guns. For a moment everyone stopped talking at looked at each other for instructions.
“Nate, the hatch.” Alexander ordered and suddenly the small scout was clambering forward. Gingery one of the engineers opened the hatch and on his hands and knees Nate crawled out. With all the other squads in the brigade doing the same now would be the perfect time to re-start the barrage. Nate crept forward, the colour of his uniform and skin slowly merging with that of the rubble. He held out a pair of binoculars and scanned the Brenodi trenches.
“Nothing yet.” He reported. “Nothing yet, Nothing- HERE THEY COME!” He shouted so loudly that Alexander almost ripped his communications ear piece out, but any anger he felt was suddenly washed away by adrenalin and without even thinking about it he was suddenly climbing out of the basement yelling orders at him men to follow him.
Outside the town had been devastated, with nothing but a few burnt out shells of building still stood, and he risked a quick glance behind himself to check whether the factory was still in one piece. The Brenodi wanted that factory, and appeared to have left it alone. Had they known that a large part of the 2nd Brigade had hid there during the bombardment they might have flattened it, but Alexander would be surprised if the Brenodi had any idea how large the Northern garrison was.
“Turrets up!” Alexander ordered then glanced at the building to his right. A large gaping hole showed where a shell had penetrated to the buildings basement before exploding, from what he could see there were no signs of life at all.
“Cartwight, take your section to the right and fortify the hell out of it.” He didn’t bother to wait for a response but lifted his own binoculars to see the long black lines advancing. The lines had disintegrated into small groups darting forward under the cover of machine gun fire. The Brenodi were professionals and there advance was well organised. Around the city he heard heavy machine guns opening fire on the advancing groups, to Alexander’s left Lucas was spraying a repeating a hail of lead down the towns main street, forcing the Brenodi to take covered in a series of drainage ditches each side of the road.
“Now David, for the love of all that is holy now!” Alexander shouted above the noise of the machine guns. The grenadier from his own section jammed his mortar into the dirt and fired his first round off. They’d already registered the ditches as a target hours before the Brenodi had started there barrage and David’s round landed right on target. Alexander watched as body fragments flew upwards, as if shot out of the a cannon that had been buried in the ground. More explosions followed as other squads rained down shells on the ditches, turning them into death traps.
Not all the Brenodi had dived into the ditches at the first sign of trouble; enough of them, buoyed on by the sound of there own machines continued advancing down the round where they reached the first of the ruined houses. Alexander watched them through his binoculars then tapping a button the right marked a target for Cartwight.
“I see them General, just waiting a few more-“ The sound of his voice was cut off as the whole building seamed up lift off the ground. A billowing cloud of smoke gushed outwards as a few remaining Brenodi infantry staggered away. Dazed and confused they we’re easy targets for Daniel.
“Looks like one of them stepped on a mine before I could detonate them all.” Cartwight said with a hint of an apologetic tone in his voice. Alexander wondered who the unlucky Brenodi had been? A new recruit who hadn’t spotted the mine? Someone dazed and confused or too distracted to notice it? “Well it saves me from a bit of work.” Cartwights voices pulled Alexander out from his thoughts. Pressing himself into the ruin of a wall Alexander watched as his arms and legs slowly faded from view. He wanted to say something to his squad, give them an order, or encouragement just to remind them that he was there. But they all knew there jobs, and he knew his.
The Brenodi we’re enduring Northerners fire, slowly advancing, sometimes firing random shots at half hidden enemies they had reached and occupied the first of the towns buildings and were now infiltrating into the second row. Alexander crept out and slowly crossed the street. Like all of the 1st and second battalion squads his were deployed in the third row of buildings, a rough ring that surrounded there HQ in the factory. His back against a wall Alexander closed his eyes and listened, behind him he could hear Brenodi boot steps and in his mind eye he could picture the advancing soldiers. There were four sets of boots in the building and it would be only moments before they spotted there NF counter parts, when that happened he would need to be in position. He edged to the corner of the building, on the far side of the main street a squad of Brenodi were similarly pressed up against a building. But there attention was focused elsewhere, slowly he sneaked around the corner, aware that if just one of the Brenodi spotted him he would be dead. The Brenodi in the building began firing at his squad, both groups where in cover and Alexander reckoned he had a few more seconds before one side would prevail in the short fire-fight.
He reached the blasted out doorway of the building and glanced around the corner. Inside the two of the four Brenodi were firing into his squads building, while another two were opening up a ammunition crate and grabbing as many grenades as possible. Silently praying that his squad wasn’t about to throw there own into the building he inched inside and lined up his SMG on the backs of the closest two Brenodi.
He knew they were dead, knew even before he started firing that they had no chance. They died without even realising where he was. The second two reacted quickly, but one of them had abandoned his weapon to pick up the grenades, the second swung a heavy rifle around to face him just as a bullet from his one of his squad mates jerked his head forward and he collapsed before he could fire a single shot. The second Brenodi panicked, threw a grenade without removing the pin and dived for his weapon. Alexander killed him before he hit the floor.
“Don’t worry sir, you can thank me later.” He heard Nate say over his comm piece. Alexander would have to thank him, if only to shut him up. Ignore him for now. He told himself. Close your eyes and focus on the surroundings. He had to think, where would the enemy be now? Where would they go? Where would they be most vulnerable from? So caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the sound of a engineer’s tool working behind him. It took him a moment to realise that it was on the other side of the wall, outside the building. A turret in that position would not be much use except to stop a flanking attack or to protect a rally point, but a camera, capable of picking up an infra-red signature through a wall would be a major boon to the Brenodi. If you knew all of the enemy’s positions you could pick and choose your targets to your advantage. The streets either side of the building were rapidly filling up, so flanking was out of the question, and soon more Brenodi would enter the building, this time he wouldn’t have the advantage of coming up behind them, he’d be lucky if he killed one before being gunned down.
Alexander had to move fast. He placed his pistol on the floor by his boot and reversed his SMG so that he held it in one hand with the butt of the weapon facing out, as if to bludgeon someone with it. Quickly he pulled a concussion grenade from his webbing and primed it. Waiting for half a second he then hit one of the bricks in the wall with the rifle. The wall had been damaged by the bombardment and it only took two quick strikes to knock the brick out of the wall. The engineer on the other side could not help but notice the brick pop out of the wall, and was looking directly at the sudden hole as Alexander tossed the concussion grenade through. The small blast was enough to knock a few more bricks precariously out of the wall but Alexander ignored them as he repeatedly fired the pistol through his hole and into the face of the blinded engineer. The man screamed blood as he fell backwards and Alexander emptied the rest of his clip into the half built camera.
Now it was time to get out of there. Grabbing his SMG Alexander lunged forward towards his squad. He jumped over the bodies of the four Brenodi and was wondering how he was going to jump the remains of the building’s front wall when he saw Nate gesturing at him wildly. He caught a quick glimpse of Cartwight yelling something at him, a quicker glimpse of a shadow moving against a wall to his side and suddenly the ground below him vanished. Blasted into the air he watched the hitherto un-jumpable wall pass by underneath him. It was strange he thought to himself, but up here it didn’t seem so tall. What did look tall was the far wall of his squads building, it was also getting larger. Alexander laughed and felts his arms moving to cushion the blow when he heard a terrible sound of something –bone perhaps, breaking. He wondered who’s they were before finally realising that he was no longer flying. It would have taken a moment longer to realise that the sound he had heard had been that of his own arms being crushed against the wall, but the darkness was too quick for him.
“Dead and back General, dead and back.”
“Go away.” Alexander’s head hurt, his legs hurt, his arms hurt, in fact he doubted there was a part of him that didn’t hurt, but at least the pain wasn’t uniform, his arms and leg were the worst, but as he lay there thinking he came to the conclusion that the hammering in his head, like a bad hangover was more annoying. It would have been bearable if the chaingun would just stop hammering away.
Chaingun?
Alexander sat bolt upright, half-remembering where he was. A strong arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down. “We’re a little pinned down here General.” Engineer Christie said. “It took me a good ten minutes to reach your body.”
“My body? You mean I was dead.” Alexander was painfully aware that his mind was still clouded and that he had no real awareness of where he was, apart from being in the middle of a fire fight.
“I should hope so. Every single one of your limbs was smashed up to pieces, I’d hate to be alive in that situation.” Christie said. “Took me a while just to piece your body back together.”
“Great.” Alexander muttered and looked around at the remains of his squad. Apart from the section he’s sent to the adjacent building he had seven other men with him, and all of them were pressed tightly into cover. Either heaps of rubble or remains of walls. He could also see why, a Brenodi chaingun was carpeting the building with tracer fire, shooting anything that moved. He risked a quick glance out of cover and saw an APC parked just meters away. It meant trouble. Lot’s of guns and grenades and a whole bunch of people carrying all kinds of death.
“Cartwight, I need that APC dead now.”
“I’m working on it sir.”
Alexander swore in his breath, any minute now a stream of grenades would fly over the walls and that would be the end of his squad. There was a sound of a small explosion and the chaingun stopped firing, but only for a moment as the gunner twisted his aim towards the new attack. Alexander heard Cartwight exploded into a series of loud curses as the grenadier was chased back into cover.
“Nate! Smoke him!”
“Yeah, that’ll help.”
“Just bloody do it.” A few seconds later a grenade was haphazardly thrown over the war. Alexander heard the sound of rushing boots saw more grenades coming inwards this time and shouted a warning.
The air around him exploded into gunfire. Alexander grabbed the pistol from Christie even as the engineer was thrown backwards by a spray of rifle fire. He fired blindly over the wall, heard a man scream and then stood as the APC fired another volley of grenades into the ruined building. The explosion threw him over the wall and he landed painfully onto his shoulder. Smoke was everywhere, he couldn’t tell whose grenades it had come from. The sound of rifle fire was mixed with blasts from the chaingun as Alexander staggered along the road. A shape loamed towards him and Alexander reached out and grabbed the man’s weapon.
It was a Brenodi weapon, a submachine gun and Alexander quickly sent a kick flying into the man’s crotch. He missed and hit the Brenodi’s inner leg as the man fired the SMG into the air. He could see him clearly though the smoke now, eyes wide in fear, mouth open in a scream. He kicked the man again, then took one hand off the SMG and punched the Brenoni repeatedly in the face. Something big exploded near them and they were both thrown to the ground. Another flurry of blows and the man let go of the SMG and reached for a pistol, but Alexander was faster. Swinging the SMG like a club smashed it against the man’s helmet and the Brenodi fell back. Spinning the weapon around him his hand he pointed the business end into the man’s face and saw a brief moment of fear until the Brenodi realised that it was his own weapon.
Soldiers on each side could not use each others weapons. Both sides had developed easy and cheap systems to protect themselves based on there enhancements. Brenoni weapons required a user to have nano-technology implants, and the Northerners weapons required the bio-enhancements common to all soldiers. Neither side wanted the other to use there own weapons against them. The Brenodi smiled as he raised his pistol and Alexander smiled back.
He fired.
The Brenodi’s face vanished into a fountain of blood and bone and Alexander felt sensation in his rattled head. It was like a faint click deep inside his skull, a click that he hadn’t felt in years.
The smoke was beginning to clear and Alexander could now see the burning remains of the APC. Dozens of bodies lay scattered about it including several in Northern brown. Nate peaked his head over some rubble and gave Alexander a wave..
More gunfire echoed all around him, almost drowning out the sound of advancing vehicles. Alexander scrambled back into his squads building, glancing at the bodies of three of his soldiers has he did so.
“You just can’t stay inside this building for one minute can you Sir, unless your dead of course.” Alexander grinned at Nates small joke.
The Brenodi advance had been halted and then repulsed by the rest of the brigade. The survivors had retreated, but only to the cities outer buildings where they were content to harass the Northern defenders with random mortar and sniper fire. Behind them, at the attacks starting position Alexander could see two more battalions forming up. His own sector of the city was quiet now, but elsewhere he could hear the sound of heavy fighting.
“1st Battalion withdraw to second defensive position.” A disembodied voice muttered into his ear and Alexander swore. General Blaise was a good defensive general when he could be persuaded stand his ground, but all too often he became convinced that his troops were about with be overrun unless they withdrew. So far in the war he had always had some where else to withdraw too, but trapped in the city, surrounded by Brenodi, Alexander wondered if Blaise would be able to cope with a last stand.
“Squad, we’re getting out of here.” He told his men and grabbed the dead Christie by the arm. “We get everyone out, we may be able to revive them when we get to the HQ.”
“You sure sir? If we wait that long then they won’t be feeling too great when they wake up.” Nate warned him.
“They’ll be feeling a damn site better than they will if we all get killed standing round here waiting to revive them.” Alexander said as he motioned one of his squad mates to help him carry Christie. Around him Alexander could see the other squads in his battalion similarly abandoning their positions.
“This is going to be tricky.” Nate muttered to himself. He was watching the Brenodi’s second advance.
“Nate, stay here and ruffle them up a bit.” Alexander ordered as his squad began running down the main street. He noted that Cartwight was busy dropping more mines as he ran. They were out in the middle of the road and easily visible, but there presence might slow the advance down by a few seconds. Alexander heard the muffled crack of Nates rifle, followed immediately by the louder thudding of a heavy machine gun. The Brenodi were firing down the street, but at there range accurate fire would be impossible.
Alexander pressed himself into a wall and watch as the rest of his squad scattered for cover. He stifled a curse and glanced at the advancing Brenodi.
"Nate, drop that damn rifleman.”
“There’s about four of them.” Nate shouted back as he took another shot. Pinned down in the street with very little cover they would stand no chance once the Brenodi reached them.
“Dwain? You alive somewhere?” Alexander shouted over his radio. The sound of half a dozen heavy machineguns almost overwhelmed that of his own voice.
“Yes sir, but I’ve been hit.” Great, Alexander thought. Another problem to deal with.
“Do you think you can get a turret up real quick?”
“A MG?” Dwain asked and Alexander had to resist the urge to snap back at him. In his minds eye he could picture the Brenodi working there way through the abandoned ruins, edging ever closer to his pinned down squad.
“Yes an MG, as high a level as possible. Everyone who can reach him help out, everyone else get ready to run.” Alexander said and turned back to watch as Nate finally abandoned the ruin and sprint down the road towards them. A second later he joined Alexander and gave him a breathless grin.
“I didn’t like that at all.” He said. “I could see a Grenadier taking aim at me, it’s not a pleasant feeling.”
“Turrets half way up.” Dwain shouted. Alexander pulled two smoke grenades out of Nate belt and offered the pins to the other scout.
“Wait for it.” He warned.
“Turrets almost done.”
“Wait for it.”
“Done.” Alexander heard the slow drone of the auto-turrets guns and saw the tracers whipping past him sending the Brenodi scattering for cover.
“Now.” Nate grabbed both of the pins and a heart beat later Alexander threw them towards the Brenodi.
“Three seconds for the smoke.” Alexander shouted over the roar of automatic fire. “Now run.” Bullets whistled past him as he and Nate carried Christie down the street. Dimly in the back of his mind he could hear the sound of an engine. A few of his soldiers were firing back through the smoke, hoping that the random shots would at least keep the Brenodi’s heads down. Alexander yelled at them to keep moving as he passed into another cloud of smoke. Someone else had obviously thought it was a god idea to use as cover. Almost blind he fought his was through the thick cloud until he saw a large block like shape in front of him. For a moment he stood there dumbfounded, then the wind picked up and suddenly there was no smoke in the street, only the back of another Bredoni APC. Disembarking form the vehicle were a dozen Brenodi, weapons held ready, though they obviously weren’t expecting him. Had the driver raced forward to cut off there retreat and not told his passenger? But if that was the case why would the APC be facing with it’s back towards them. Then it hit him, the APC wasn’t there for them, it was a staging point for the attack on the Factory, which had to only be a few streets away. The Brendoni were a surprised to see him as he was.
There was a curious moment as everyone stared at each other, wondering what in the hell they were doing there. Alexander didn’t see who fired first, but his hand somehow found his stolen SMG and suddenly the entire street burst into gunfire. They were barely a few feet away from each other and neither side had any cover. There was nothing to do but fire madly and pray. To his right Nate fell to the floor clutching his gut, to his left Cartwight fired a mortar directly into a mans face and Alexander suddenly realised he was screaming. More mortar rounds and rifle fire flashed from the far side of the APC and Alexander found himself emptying the remains of his clip into a fallen Brenodi scout. The APC was nothing but a blackened hulk, it’s passengers and crew sprawled out around it.
“Nice of you to drop by.” A sardonic voice shouted from a set of ruined buildings. Alexander could see the rapidly diminishing smoke trails of anti-armour rockets. He waved a shaking hand back at his saviours. They had reached the second defensive line. “Master Sergeant?” The voice called again and Alexander nodded. “Blaise wants to see you, he says he’s got a job to do.”
“Tell him I’ve already died once today.” Alexander found his voice. A minute later the other speaker came back.
“He said that’s good, it means you won’t mind doing it a second time.”
Eight and a half years ago.
“And therefore if we factor torque coefficient we can see that the Jerkotian strength index is 22% lower than that of our own. So in close quarters combat the weaker Jerkotian soldier has a grave disadvantage.” Dr Ossorans voice was curiously high pitched and was carried by a unchanging rhythm that echoed around the lecture theatre and through the brain of Cadet Christopher Nichols. He creased his brow and tried to ignore it, focusing on the scrawled numbers on his pad, but try as he might he couldn’t force them to become understandable.
Nichols could guess that few of the other cadets would be doing the same. Most would have become bored something within the first hour of hearing Ossorans monotonous voice drone on about line after un-ending line of the equation. The second hour was more than enough to kill off the enthusiasm of any sane man.
Sometimes Nichols wondered if Alexander was completely sane. His friend was sitting next to him, on the edge of one of the benches in the lecture theartre and was also caught between trying to listen to the lecture and understand the equation.
“Thank you Dr Ossoran, that was very informative.” Instruction Callison shouted from the side of the lecture hall, in a voice that was almost sincere. “Do any of you have a question for the Doctor?”
Nichols cursed under his breath as Alexander slowly raised his hand. His friend was still scribbling furiously on his pad, with a mixture of concern and anger on his face. Around him Nichols felt the rest of the classes cadets brace themselves.
“Anybody else?” Callison asked hopefully. No one moved. “Very well, Cadet Alexander, what is your question?”
Alexander straightened up, and Nicholas prayed he wasn’t in a bad mood. The Cadets of the 10th training battalion had a simple saying, ‘there were two ways to go about questioning people, the normal nice and polite way that got answers, or the Alexander way.’
“Doctor, are your purposely trying to get our soldiers killed or are you actually delusional enough to believe this calculation?” It was fairly tame by Alexander's standard, but Nichols didn’t doubt that he could still escalate into a Nuke-Missile style attack at a moments notice.
“Wh- What do you mean?” Ossoran said.
“Line 23 of the equation, its wrong. Only by 1% but combines with line 28 and 32 it throws the result of the equation by a total off-“ Alexander finished scribbling. "In fact according to this the Jerkotian melee strength when upgraded is 0.15% higher than ours."
“Your wrong!” Callison said forcefully.
“No he isn’t.” Cadet Jains spoke up. Nichols wasn’t surprised, if there was anyone else in the battalion who could have waded through the mass of the equation that Ossoran had spent the past two hours teaching them about, it would have been him.
“Impossible! I have taught this equation to classes all over the Empire for 10 years! The Senate Select Committee and Army Command have both verified these numbers, they cannot possibly be wrong!.” That would have annoyed Alexander.
“So your saying that it isn’t the result of your incompetence, but that it is part of a deliberate plot by the Senate and Army Command to hide the truth from both soldiers and officers in the field.”
“Has anyone got any other questions?” Callison jumped in. Ossoran looked visibly relieved, Alexander just glared at his instructor.
“I have one.” Cadet Esen said, raising his hand.
“Thank you Esen.” Callison said, ignoring Alexander. “What is your question?”
“What do you suggest I tell the families of those soldiers under my command who died because I was given false information such as this?" There were a few sniggers from the rest of the cadets, followed by a murmur of agreement. Esen was well liked, precisely because he was always the one who thought up those sort of questions. He never saw battles as solely a matter of bullets, but of logistics and morale, the soldier holding the gun was to him far more important than the gun itself.
Ossoran half babbled something before his voice trailed off in his throat and Niochols took the opportunity to raise his hand.
“If the Jerkotians already have this minor advantage over us, what steps are you taking to ensure that they won’t exploit and increase this advantage. A 0.15% increase isn’t much at the moment, but how long until they increase there lead to something more noticeable?” He said before anyone could intervene. It wasn’t much of a question, but Nichols could already see what was about to happen, and he would prefer it if Alexander and Esen didn’t face it alone.
"That's enough!" Callison shouted loud enough to make those cadets nearest to him jump. "Cadets Krane, Esen and Nichols stay behind. The rest of you get out of here, now!" Cowled by the instructors anger most of the Cadets hurried to leave the room, a flustered Ossoran watched them leave, unsure of what he should do.
“You didn’t to do that.” Alexander muttered to Nichols. He shrugged, as if to suggest it wasn’t worth thinking about.
“Yeah well, I didn’t want you two to have all the fun.”
"All three of you, follow me." Callsion said and stormed out of the lecture hall. The three cadets meekly followed him. Outside the corridors were filled with other Cadets, a few gave Nichols quick glances, most tried to stay clear of the instructor. They left the lecture wing and crossed over the parade ground to the instructors barracks. Both of Nichol's companions strode confidently, as if they had nothing to fear, but Nicholas had known them long enough to see that they were both nervous. Esen was straight backed, his hands clasped behind his back, while Alexander just stared at the back of Callison.
Eventually they reached Callsions office, there was one spare chair, but none of them accepted it. It was a small gesture to each other, but it was more for Callisons benefit than there own.
"Three weeks left." Callsion began, keeping his voice low. "Three weeks until this battalions officers are supposed to be ready for combat. Three weeks until you are sent to the front and from what I can tell, three weeks until you are all dead."
For once Alexander didn't argue, he'd already fought this battle before, and they all knew the outcome. "Every other instructor has chosen the officers for his battalion and I have make my own recommendations in the next week, quite simply there is not one single cadet I think is ready to lead a battalion. All three of you have a shot at this, but each and every time I think one of you might just have what it takes you throw it all away with a idiotic stunt like this. The passing out parade is in two weeks, commander Snyder himself will be giving a speech and I'm half tempted to inform him that this battalion is not, and will never be ready!” Callison paused for breath, and then sighed. Placing his hands on his desk he continued. "Do you have anything to say for your selves?"
Alexander spoke first, he'd started the argument, and he knew that he now had to defend those who had stood with him.
"Sir, our duty is to protect he soldiers under our command, we cannot do this we are given false information. It will place the lives of ourselves, our soldiers, and the soldiers of other formations in jeopardy."
"Your duty is to follow orders Cadet. What you think is best is not necessary so, those who command you, know better than you."
"I disagree. Those who command me, are only human."
“And they are still more experienced than you think you are. You are a Cadet, your position in the battalion once it has finished training is yet to be determined, you are not a General, you are not responsible for formulating military policy and the way you are going, you will be lucky to make lieutenant. If it was up to me and the rest of the staff here, you would have been thrown out long ago, but your fathers reputation alone keeps you here.” Callison turned back to the window, clasped his hands behind his back. Trying to talk to Alexander about anything that he disagreed with was like trying to talk to a brick wall. Occasionally useful for sounding out ideas, but if you kept it up long enough people would begin to think you were mad.
Ignore Alexander, he told himself. Give Esen command of the Battalion, make Nichols his second and give Alexander a company to command, that would keep his fathers reputation, and the politicians who guarded it, happy. With any luck the kid would either sort himself out, or get killed.
“You three are dismissed.” He said without turning to look at them. “I'll think of some punishment later, I have work to do.”
Alexander breathed a sigh of relief as they marched out of Callisons office.
“Dodged a nuke there I think.” Esen said, a smile forming on his face.
“No, I just think it's going slower than usual and will detonate in about two hours, once Callisons come up with something more imaginative than usual.” Alexander said. His voice was flat, with none of the passion that had shown itself in the lecture hall.
“Could be worse I suppose.” Nichols said. “We could have been thrown out.”
“Thank my father for that. Callison knows that if he kicks you out, I'll leave, the press would rip him to shreds.”
“Then why hasn't he kicked me out?” Esen asked joeknly.
“Oh he's waiting until just before our first battle for that.” Alexander deepened his voice until it sounded like a passable Callison.
“Colonal Esen, we are about to engage the enemy and so I have decided to demote you to the rank of bullet magnate, you are to stand ten feet in front of your men and die horribly, you will not be revived as I have done such a piss-pour job of training the engineers that none of them know there calculators from there repair tools, however do not be afraid, one of them will stand over your corpse and attempt to solve basic trigonometry while another covers the area with ammunition crates, this way your death will not be in vain.”
Esen laughed weakly, and Nichols glanced behind him in case anyone had over heard his friend.
“Careful, you don't want anyone to hear you.” He warned.
“No ones ever found me out yet.”
Esen smiled again. “That's what Jains thought with those magazines. Hells, did you see Callisons face when he found them, I thought he would burst a blood vessel.”
This time the laughter was louder, but still contained a hint of nervousness.
“You really should be careful Alex, if Callison finds that book of yours...” Nichols left the threat trail off in mid sentence. Alexander didn't even blink as they entered the courtyard again.
“What book?”
“'The Eternal Struggle', that Rebel book you have hidden.” Alexander cursed but said nothing. “If he finds that, your could be in serious trouble.”
“It's not completely illegal.” Alexander argued.
“It's not that far off either, why do you bother with it, a single book is not worth all the trouble.”
“Know your enemy.” Alexander said.
“Is it really just that?” Alexander shrugged, and kept walking, he didn't say anything until they reached there barracks room.
“They may be our enemy, but there are some things you have to respect about them.” On many levels Nichols found that one comment far more disturbing that the fact that he's just spent two hours being lied to.
Three Years Later
The massive bulk of the Rebel Heavy Tank was almost on top of him. Alexander could feel the heat from the beast's engine as he pressed himself into the rockface. Inches away the tank crawled slowly forward, cannons, sounding like miniature thunderclaps belting out fire and death in all directions. A flurry of missiles arced into the distance where the rest of Alexander's exhausted battalion kept there heads down and waited for there Colonel to either die or pull of a miracle.
He was almost impossible to see in the fading day light, covered in the stealth field and pressed up against the canyons wall.
He didn't breath, didn't make a sound as the tank slid slowly past him. The canyon was barely wide enough to accommodate one tank, and if the tank turned to the right just a few inches Alexander would be crushed.
Hoping that his men were ready Alexander threw the Sticky grenade at the beast's hull. He saw his stealth field deactivate as the bomb left his hand and heard a shout from the Rebel infantry that had been advancing a few meters behind the tank as they spotted him.
Alexander ran, he heard more shouts from behind him then the Tank fired again. The shell shot past him and exploded into the canyons wall with enough force to blast Alexander onto his back. He forced the fogginess from his mind and concentrated on pulling himself to his feet. He had to keep moving. The tanks chain gun opened fire, it's bullets flicking closer and closer to him as the gunner tracked across his only escape route. The tank rushed forward to close the distance, determined to crush him if the chain gun didn't find him first.
Then the bomb exploded. Alexander was still stunned, and the shock wave almost threatened to knock himself off his feet again. He yelled down his radio, trying to order his men to attack now, but the words came out as gibberish.
The first Brenodi rockets slammed into the front of the tank as his battalion, seeing the vehicle disabled opened fire with every weapon they had. Alexander tripped as he tried to run form the tank and the ground shot up to knock the air out of his lungs. Lying on his back he could see his men's rockets as they slowly chipped away the tanks front armour, he found himself counting the missiles, and trying to guess who had fired which. It took him completely by surprise when the ground shuddered beneath him as the tanks main ammunition store detonated. Shrapnel scythed through the air and Alexander tried to roll away from the explosion, it was no use of course, he could do nothing except cling to the ground until the shock wave had passed over him, and the heat from the explosion had dissipated.
Behind the ruined tank the remaining Rebels began to fall back, no more shots were fired from either side, neither group of soldiers wanted to continue the fight, and Alexander's men were content with simply throwing out insults and jeers at the retreating Rebels.
His men, and the last trench they had occupied were a shambles. There uniforms ragged, hair unkempt, covered in mud and blood, they looked like a rabble. A single days worth of hard fighting had reduced them to an exhausted huddled mass of men, but while they might have looked like a rabble, they also looked like soldiers.
Captain Jains ordered the remains of his company forward to secure the canyon, and it was him who found Alexander lying still dazed on the ground, the flames of the dead Rebel Tank gave the canyon a eerie glow in the twilight and gave Jains scared face a nightmarish quality.
“Still alive Major?”
Alexander blinked, and remembered where he was. “Call...” The words died in his throat and he forced himself to take another breath. “Call Brigadier Nichols, tell him we held.” He paused for breath again. “The bastards.”
Jains was smart enough to pick up on that. “Do you mean we held the Rebel bastards? Or that the Brigadier and his staff are bastards.” He grinned at the joke, but Alexander didn't bother to reply.
It was dark by the time Alexander's jeep arrived but General Nichols smiled as Alexander limped up to his command post. Around him a few of his soldiers stopped to watch the exhausted looking Major, one or two even offered him assistance but Alexander like always waved them away. Eventually he reached Nichols, and without even a hint of familiarity gave a smart Brenodi salute.
“Major Alexander Crane reporting as ordered Sir!”
“I could have one of my Engineers look at that leg for you?” Nichols offered, though he already knew what the answer was going to be.
“I think your engineers have more important things to do, such as helping mine put my battalion back together.” Nichols hadn't expected that last comment, and he was momentarily taken aback by the anger in his friends voice.
“I'm sure your own can do the job just as well, I doubt the Rebels will attack again, not for a day at least.”
“If they had any sense they would, I'm down to just over two hundred exhausted men, we won't hold off another attack.” Nichols sighed, and waved Alexander into his command tent. A large screen filled one of the tents walls. Clustered around the screen a half dozen staff officers hurried to and fro, intent on looking busy in front of the Major and Brigadier.
“Look at it, look at the Rebel Lines, what do you notice about them Major?”
Alexander gave the screen a dismissive look. “They've collapsed and are withdrawing.”
“Exactly, and it is all thanks to you and your battalion. You held the canyon for the rest of the brigade to encircle and crush the rebels, we've opened up a hole in there lines two miles wide, even as we speak the 6th and 8th Divisions are breaking through into the rebel's supply lines, we've won the campaign!”
“You lied to me.” Alexander said. He’d kept his voice low, with only just a slight hint of anger.
“I didn’t lie, everything I said was the truth.”
“You told me to advance through the canyon and launch an attack on ‘a unsuspecting rebel outpost.’” Alexander said, quoting from his orders.
“And that outpost never expected an attack.” Nichols was fighting a rear-guard action against Alexander, they both knew what was happening, and how it would end.
“They were unsuspecting an attack because there were three and a half thousand Rebel troops between my battalion and the outpost.” Alexander's voice had grown loud enough for the other staff officers to hear. A few kept there heads down and pretended to work, but most made no attempt to hide the fact that they were listening in to the conversation.
“So I never lied to you, I merely hid one unimportant fact.”
“Unimportant! You bas-“
“You survived didn’t you? Although only god knows how you clung onto that pathetic scrap of rock. Our victory in this campaign is all down to you and your battalion, your heroes! A few dead men is a small price to pay for that.” Nichols no longer cared who listened in, even if the entire brigade heard him. He’d spent the past two weeks commanding the lives of thousands of men in a running battle against the Rebels, and now he’d finally beaten them he didn’t have the patience to deal with one single angry Major, even if he was an old friend.
“If you had told me, I could have prepared for there attack, I’d have beaten them twice as fast with only half the casualties.”
“I couldn’t tell you. Orders from above.” That caught Alexander by surprise, and for a moment he said nothing, then it all seamed to click into place.
“They tried to sacrifice me, they wanted me to die.” He said, his voice soft again. “I guess that was the plan, you knew the rebels were going to attack the canyon, so you sent my battalion in with the intention that it would be overwhelmed and the Rebels, thinking they had finally broken through our lines would pour through the canyon-“
“And be ambushed by the 6th and 8th.” Nichols smiled. “Because of you we had to improvise a little, but the Rebels knew how weak your position in the canyon was, they were preparing another attack, fortunately for you the 6th and 8th flanked and attacked there staging area before they could get started, it was a slaughter.”
Alexander, momentarily defeated just sighed, and collapsed into a empty chair.
“It had to be done.” Nichols continued. “One battalion had to be sacrificed to win the campaign, and General Ikkiko requested yours, so there was nothing I could have done.”
“If I had known…” His voice trailed off. A new voice from the tents entrance sounded. Bombastic and full of barely concealed distaste.
“You might have been captured, and told the Rebels everything.” Nichols and the rest of the staff officers saluted as General Ikkiko sauntered into the tent. Alexander barely even acknowledged the commander of the 17th Division. “And believe me when I say this, your capture would be far more preferable than your survival, although no where near as good as if you’d just been killed out right.”
“To hell with you General.” Alexander said and Nichols felt himself pressing back into the tents darker corners, and around him his staff suddenly remembered they had work to do. Ikkiko was a tall man, powerfully built, with a deep distinctive voice. He was not a man you wanted to antagonise.
“So, that’s another count of showing disrespect to a commanding officer, it will look nice on your court marshal paperwork.” It was then that Nichols spotted the four riflemen standing outside his tents entrance in the dark, weapons held ready.
Alexander just laughed. “For being disrespectful, five minutes ago I was a hero who'd won the campaign, and now I’m being court marshalled for being disrespectful.”
“Actually the main charge is disobeying a direct order.”
“I hope you have evidence of that?”
Triumphantly Ikkiko held up a single sheet of paper. “Order Transmitted from General Nichols to Major Alexander Crane at 09:34 Hours. 2nd Battalion is to advance through canyon and attack Rebel Supply-base located 4 kilometres due north.”
“Failure to achieve an objective due to enemy resistance does not equal disobeying a direct order.”
“Oh, but you didn’t fail to achieve your objective, you didn’t even try to. You halted your battalion as soon as you spotted the enemy, your orders state that you were to advance until you cleared the canyon.”
“That’s just semantics, nothing more.”
Ikkiko grinned, and held out the sheet to Nichols. “Read the last line of the order Brigadier General.” He said. Nichols took the paper, and without even looking at it spoke the last line.
“Do not stop your advance, even if contact is established with the enemy.”
It was a small, tiny, insignificant thing, not enough to court-marshal anyone over, but that wasn’t going to deter Ikkiko.
“I have you Alexander. I don’t care what you say, you’ve pushed your luck for the last time. I’ve spent two years listening to reports of your negligence and I’ve never had enough proof, you've been lucky and always, always just kept on the right side of your orders to get away with it, but not this time. This time, you are mine!” Ikkiko motioned behind him and his four riflemen entered the tent, someone gasped as the weapons were aimed at Alexander.
Alexander reached down to scratch some dirt of one of his boots. From his vantage point Nichols could see the small round cylinder in his hand as he placed it under his boot. From where Ikkiko and his Rifleman was standing, it would look as if Alexander was more interested in his foot ware than any escape attempt.
“Your coming with us Major.” Ikkiko said. The triumphant grin plastered to his face.
“Everyone here, I want you all to look at me while I point out something very obvious that the two Generals here have missed.” Alexander said as he stood up.
“And that is?”
Alexander grinned as he lifted his foot and rolled the cylinder forward a couple of inches. “I’m a scout.”
Everyone had been looking at Alexander when the concussion grenade at his feet exploded. Nichols heard Ikkiko's started exclamation even as he tried in vain to turn away from the flash.
He blinked, he could feel that his eyes were open, but even after a few seconds he couldn't make out much more than the faint shadows of people rushing about in blind panic.
“Get an Engineer in here now!” One of the Riflemen yelled. Someone grabbed Nichols by the the shoulder.
“Are you all right sir?” One of the staff officers asked.
“Of course I'm all right. It was only a flash bang.”
“Sir, the Generals been wounded.” It took a few more seconds to make out the crumpled form of Ikkiko, and it took a few more seconds to see the blood stain across the Generals forehead.
“Damn traitor pistol whipped me as he ran.” Ikkiko said, his voice oddly subdued. “We have to stop him”
“How?” Nichols asked. He raced to the tents exit and stared out into the darkness. Alexander, and the jeep he had arrived in were both gone.
“There's nothing between here and the front lines except turrets and mines, and they will all register him as Brenodi, he can walk right past them without a problem.”
“Then we will have to stop him at the lines.” He turned to his now superfluous Riflemen. “Get me up.” He shouted and they quickly rushed to pull the large man to his feet. “He can't have gone far, we just have to figure out where.”
Nichols knew exactly where Alexander would have gone, but he decided not to say anything. Perhaps he was still in shock, perhaps he still felt that the entire issue could be resolved peacefully, he doubted either of those options were strictly true. It was more likely that he still had some loyalty to his friend, and as one final favour to him, was letting him go.
Eventually the still dazed Ikkiko figured it out. He lunged for the communications array and screamed at the bewildered staff officer to contact Alexander's battalion. By the time they got through, ten minutes had passed since Alexander's escape.
“Captain Jains here sir.” The voice was faint over the static.
“Captain, is Major Krane with you.” Ikkiko said without bothering to identifying himself.
“No sir, Alex passed by about thirty seconds ago.”
“He did what!” Ikkiko exploded into fury, smashing his hands on the communications array.
“He- he passed by, said he had orders to negotiate with the Rebels, something about an exchange of prisoners.” Jains voice came back.
“That means his already gone Ikkiko, we've lost him.” Nichols said. Ikkiko took a deep breath, he looked as if he was preparing himself for devastating fit of rage, as if with anger alone he could kill Alexander.
The rage subsided, to be replaced by quiet menace.
“It doesn't matter. Within a few months the Rebels will be defeated, and he will either be killed, or captured and then killed. We've already won this war, it's only a matter of time.”
Nichols had heard such predictions a dozen times before, but he found himself wondering why this time he hoped they weren't true.
Present Day
The factory, for which hundreds if not thousands of men had already died for was a unimpressive building. Small, cramped with machinery there wasn’t even enough room to establish a proper dressing station, but with typical stubbornness General Blaise had established his entire HQ and most of the 2nd Guards Brigades supporting troops inside.
Power was limited, as was light and clean air and the entire building had a claustrophobic feeling about it. Scores of soldiers were pressed into corridors and rooms, wounded mostly, and those engineers who worked ceaseless to patch them up. Huanted eyes gazed out of the dark recesses of store rooms and offices, waiting for orders to return to the front.
Other rear-echelon personal, or those who had slipped away from the fighting to find safer ground tried to look busy as Alexander pushed his way through them. He nodded to one or two of the soldiers he recognised on his way past.
“Any news sir” A voice asked from one passageway.
“We're buggered.” He responded and pushed forward.
General Blaise had entrenched himself behind a pile of papers in what had once been the factory's foreman's office. Maps and intelligence reports lay scattered around in a vain attempt to convince people that Blaise was busy. With all of his battalions deployed, and no other supporting units within the city, there was little for him to actually do except occasionally organise a shipment of there rapidly diminishing supplies to the embattled battalions.
Blaise himself was a tall, bone thin man approaching middle age. He was humourless and pessimistic, but at times a decent enough commander to keep the majority of his troops alive and fed. He was staring at a map of the city as Alexander marched into the office and gave a quick salute.
“Take a seat.” Blaise ordered and passed Alexander the map. “We’re in a tricky situation. Surrounded and that’s not a good situation to be in.”
Alexander resisted the urge to tell the General that he was fully aware of that, and kept his mouth shut. “We weren’t meant to be in this situation, the 4th and 8th armoured brigades were supposed to be holding our flanks, but everything with a working engine has been sent to fight up north to Erico, there saying it’s going to be one of the largest tank battles of the war.”
Again Alexander held his tongue, everyone had heard the rumours of that battle, fifteen miles too the north where two Northern armoured brigades had blundered into a Brenodi army. The two brigades hadn’t been able to extricate themselves as the Brenodi poured more and more armour into the area in an attempt to cut them off, and slowly more of the Northerners own precious armour had been sent into to extricate the trapped brigades until now rumours suggested over a thousand tanks were blasting the hell out of each other and the 2nd Brigade had been abandoned in Tylis.
Alexander could hear the sound of gunfire rattling around the buildings outside and Blaise paused to listen for a moment before turning his attention back to Alexander, his face had turned pale. The mere idea that the Blaise would be anywhere near actual combat terrified the General.
“What we need is something to take the pressure off us. A small force that can distract an enemy company or two long enough for the 4th and 8th to finish the job at Erico and get back to us.” Blaise said.
“So you want a couple of company's lead by a decent officer to attempt a break out? Strike out of Tylis and hit there supply lines and hope you win so you can revive us all afterwards?” Alexander said, already seeing where this was going.
“Not quite. I want you and fifty men to take some of the abandoned sewers under the city and deploy behind Brenodi lines in the town to harass them a little.”
“And who’s going to be the officer in charge of this suicide mission.”
“Alex.” Blaise said in a warning tone.
“This is suicide, what we need to do is dig in and pray we are reinforced, 50 men will get themselves slaughtered the moment they appear behind the Brenodi.”
“Not if they are well lead.” More guns joined in the cacophony outside, beneath them Alexander could just about make out the sound of engines and men, of screams and the faint thudding of bullets striking flesh. Blaise visibly shuddered at the sound.
“Colonel Agrippa then, he’s be your best bet for this, it's just so insane he'll enjoy the challenge.” Alexander suggest, wondering if it would make any difference if he just bolted out of the door here and now.
“I need Aggripa here.” Of course, Alexander realised. Aggripa was Blaises second in command, and the General needed the Colonel to run his battle for him.”You will lead them General.” Blaise said using Alexander's old rank. Alexander sighed, knowing he was trapped, he couldn't run, not again, not when there was no where else to run too.
“I would like to remind you that the Northern Faction has decided that my services as a officer are no longer needed.” Alexander said, pointing to his sergeants stripes. “And that you yourself testified at my court-martial.” Blaise smiled, knowing he had won.
“We’ll talk about it when you get back.”
The sewers were old, dark and stank. The architecture suggested they had been built before Tylis. It was a town that had been built on the ruins of another and very few people knew the sewers existed. Blaise and a few of the officers of the 2nd Brigade had known, one of the local pro-northerner architects had informed him of them before fleeing the town and Alexander desperately prayed that no one had told the Brenodi. The tunnels were low enough to be out of the range of the Brenodi on the surface, but a single camera, or hidden scout and his entire force of two platoons would be trapped like rats.
Most of his force were ten meters behind him, each member simply focusing on following the man in front and trying to keep there footing. The sewers were flooded and the sickly dark water rose to there knees as they inches forward.
Cartwight was beside Alexander, trying to use his flash light to search for mines hidden below the water. Alexander himself was focusing on the sounds echoing through the sewers. He forced himself to ignore the gunfire above, and the sloshing of those behind him, he had to listen for the quiet breathing, the slow almost silent heart-beat of a hidden enemy scout.
No one spoke, not even when they found a sudden drop in the sewers floor and the water rose to there wastes. Alexander cursed under his breath and consulted the mini-map in his helmets heads up display. Another two hundred meters, or ten minutes of sneaking through the sewers and they would be there.
There were no hidden mines, and they found no camera’s, which ultimately didn't mean much to Alexander, but as they reached the old rusted ladder that would take them to the surface Alexander began to hope that the Brenodi had missed them. With one hand he motioned Cartwight to stay where he was and then knelt in the water, waiting for his bodies and uniforms adaptive camouflage to kick in before starting his long crawl upwards. He had to keep is body crunched up, as if he was kneeling. The stealth field generators could only cover a area so large, if anything let it, be it part of a body, or a gun or even a bullet it would break.
Keeping a eye out for mines Alexander peaked his head topside and came face to face with a Brenodi camera. Someone had spotted the sewers entrance, and had guarded it well. He inched out of the ladder, staying crouched and praying that the combination of sensor jamming and camouflaged implants would keep him hidden. He would have no idea if they would or not, not until the Brenodi decided to investigate.
They were near the edge of the town, where the buildings were slightly more intact, the camera was pressed up against a wall and Alexander quickly glanced around to see if there was any other surprises waiting for him.
But the camera was enough.
Had all fifty of his men been scouts, they could have slipped passed and the Brenodi would never had known, but then the first APC they ran in to would have gutted them. His two platoons were a mixture of troops, all hand-picked volunteers who Alexander had fought with before, and there advance was blocked by a single camera.
He had to destroy it, and hope that the engineer who built it was too dead to notice. The metal was tough, but the optics inside broke easily after a few hard blows from his SMG.
“Everyone, up the ladder as soon as you can.”
They climbed quickly and began to spread out through the ruined buildings.
Major Mendel smiled as her chaingun tore up the Brenodi squad. The half dozen survivors from her company's sudden attack had dug themselves in behind a low wall, content to throw the occasional grenade over the top. Unlike the rest of her company Mendal wasn't going to simply wait for them to grow bored and surrender. So she had skirted her light tank around the wall before unloading the chainguns magazine into the gaggle of stray soldiers. One of them threw his gun down and tried to raise his hands, but the chain gun didn't stop hammering into his body until it stopped twitching. Mendal heard a audible sigh from above her and she glanced up at her tanks turret and gave Corporal Saik a annoyed look.
“I really don't have the patients for your moralising today.” She told him before twisting the tank away from the blood stained wall.
“You never do.” The other said dryly. She ignored him as she weaved her tank between the wreckage of Brenodi vehicles. It was a pleasant sight, after three days of bashing her battalion into the flank of the Brenodi they were finally collapsing.
Her battalion.
It had been less than seventy-hours since her promotion and she still couldn't get used that idea. Her first truly independent command.
She smiled again as her tank left the grave yard of Brenodi vehicles. With practised eyes she scanned the horizon, two hundred meters ahead of her was her first company, three of her heaviest tanks cruised slowly across the horizon, shells and missiles arching from the turret as they chased down the survivors of a Brenodi armoured column.. Four hundred meters to her left a collection of medium and lighter tanks swarmed over a stranded Brenodi heavy. A quick glance at her HUD showed her third company's light tanks swinging into formation behind her.
She felt her command complete, but a moment later she heard the nervous voice of Taren over her radio.
“Erm, Major, where do you want us?”
Bloody Taren. She thought to her self. She would be happy with just the three armoured company's, but the 7th Battalion had always included a fourth and in her mind completely superfluous addition.
“Taren, are your APC's still alive?”
“Er... yeah... were all here Major. Haven't need to move anywhere.” She cursed again and heard Saik stifle a laugh. Everyone knew what she thought of the infantry that she had been saddled with, everyone it seamed, except Taren. “Where do you need us?” He asked again.
“Form up behind me, the 3rd Battalion might need us, I'll use your APC's to ferry out the wounded.”
“Er..yes...ok, of course sir.” Bloody infantry. They were all pointless, even when mechanised in APC's they could barely keep up with her light tank, and they didn't even have the advantage of being particularly destructive.
She had been a tanker since she'd volunteered for front-line duty, and in those eight years she'd never seen any infantry achieve something that her tanks couldn't do better, with the possible exception of being killed.
It wasn't there fault really, but she would have preferred it if Taren and all the others would just stay away from her and leave her to do her job. Now she was in command of the 7th she would eventually have to find something for the fourth company to do, but she'd decided that they could wait until the end of at least that battle. After that she'd sit down with Taren and try to figure out how to make them useful.
In the mean time she would use Tarens troops on all the unimportant tasks that were below the dignity of a proper tanker. Latrine duty would be next, followed by courier duty and then she'd think up of something really vindictive for them.
“All company's, form up on me, we're going to flank the last of the Brenodi, company commanders give me ammunition and hull status reports.” Uselessly even Taren gave his report, even though she hadn't let any of his APC's or soldiers anywhere near the fight.
The rest of her commanders checked in and she spent the next couple of moments studying her map, plotting out the probably locations of the withdrawing Brenodi's rearguard, and what would be the best way to to hook around there flank.
“Major Mendal?” A voice called over her radio and she sighed. Yet another interruption, probably some other idiot from command foisting another bunch of infantry on her.
“Mendal here.” She answered wearily.
“Your to break off you pursuit of the enemy and head down south. Command needs you to rescue some infantry who are trapped in Tylis.” She smashed her fist against the side of her tank harder than she meant to, and Sikes glanced down at her with a worried look.
“Let me guess, the Brigade they left down there can't handle a couple of AFV's so they need us to do there work for them.” She said.
“Negative, the Brigades holding, but a company was somehow isolated by the Bernodi and could do with some help.” The voice responded.
“Fine, if that's what our orders are, that's what we will do.” That was always the problem, no matter how high up you got in the army, there were always someone out there who out ranked you, and at the end of the day an army only functioned if everyone followed there orders.
Which meant her new battalion was being pulled out of the fight to save a bunch of foot-sloggers who couldn't be trusted not to die on there own.
“Confirmed Major, here are there coordinates. The commander of the force is Master Sergeant Crane, I'll give him your radio frequency if you need it.” Mendal cursed again and this time she deliberately smacked the side of her tank with her full strength.
“Major?” Sikes said.
“Battalion, form on me as soon as possible, we have a traitor to rescue.”
Alexander loved running, there was a sense of freedom to it. He enjoyed testing himself with it, testing his speed , endurance and most importantly testing whether he could reach the far side of the Brenodi Heavy tank before someone killed him.
Bullets ripped past his head, the Heavy fired shells behind him and all he could think about was getting to the tanks far side.
He had discarded his usual scouts equipment and equipped himself with the rifle and body armour of a normal soldier. The heavy tank rolled forward, intent on crushing him but Alexander was expecting that, screaming half in terror and half in excitement he reached the front of the tank and leaped onto it's hull.
Scrambling forward he forced himself not to duck as the tanks mounted machine gun tried to track him, but he was too close and already rushing forward towards it's turret.
He pulled himself over the turret and smashed the sticky grenade on it's far side. Then he came to a halt. His plan to ambush the tank had been going so well he'd forgotten to plan his escape.
He swore loudly as he tried to roll off the tank, but the Brenodi infantry squad who had been escorting the tank had finally spotted him and bullets whipped about the top of the tank pinning him in place.
The tanks crew finally realised where he was and suddenly the tank was surging forward. The sudden momentum rolled him over the tanks turret and dropped him the other side. He caught a quick glimpse of his sticky bomb, a even quicker glimpse of the the rear of the tank and then found himself sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky a moment before the tanks turret exploded.
He'd done it. He'd taken the bastard out who had been ripping through his small assault force with impunity. Around him the Brenodi infantry were training his weapons on Alexander and he realised that it had been yet another mistake as his troops would have to fight on without him.
Alexander was laughing as the hail of bullets tore into his body.
“The bugger's going to be a bastard to revive now.” Nate muttered under his breath as he watched Alexander die. He suppressed a slight shudder and ducked back from the buildings window. Alexander had been good to his word and killed the heavy, but it left his entire task force leaderless.
Not that any of them really needed a leader. Until the heavy had suddenly burst onto the scene with it's dual high explosive cannons no one had really needed to be told what to do. They'd left the sewer entrance and rushed to one off the many two story office buildings that had lined the main road where they had spent a good ten minutes digging themselves into the building.
Nate didn't know if the first convoy they had ambushed had been sent to investigate them, or sent as reinforcements to the front, nor did he care, he was just happy to have so many easy targets.
Ever since that first ambush Brenodi resistance had been steadily increasing, but Alexander had positioned his troops well, and it looked like they could have held on for days, until the Heavy had arrived. The tank had demolished half the building and killed most of Alexander's troops before he'd begun his suicidal charge at the monster.
Alexander hadn't even waited long enough to put anyone else in charge.
It was too little too late of course. More and more Brenodi were arriving every minute from all side. They were advancing in short disciplined rushes, machine guns covering each window, grenades hurtling through the air, men screaming as they died.
Nate pressed himself into the window frame and fired off two quick shots with his sniper rifle. He missed both times, there was simply too much fire being directed at him for him to aim properly.
“I need some ammo!” He shouted to no one. It was a lie, he still had a few rounds left, but it was an excuse to stay back from the windows edge and not die.
It wouldn't help in the long run, they would be over run soon, and then it would be the final death. No chance to be rescued and revived, the Brenodi would bury the bodies deep down where no one could ever find them. They would mutilate them first just in case someone pulled off a miracle and dug them up before decomposition set it, but Nate doubted they needed to bother.
“Stick together, we can do this.” Nate heard Cartwright shout from somewhere in the building. He risked a quick glance out of the window and saw three more APC's trundle down the road.
The bullet had been hastily fired at the window by a terrified Brenodi sniper, but it still did it's job and Nate's head jerked back even as the force of the bullet spun his body round. He died before he even hit the floor.
The rifle spluttered to silence in his hand and out of sheer desperation Cartwight threw the weapon at the advancing Brenodi. He shouted a guttural screech at the Brenodi and tried to run but terror had gripped his legs. They reached the buildings walls and began swarming inside, dark black uniformed swarming over the dust red of dead Northern soldiers.
Cartwight couldn't hear anything but his breathing, couldn't think any further ahead than the next second. He tried to run for one of the buildings exists, only a small party of his mind was even aware that there were Brenodi pouring through it.
He clawed at them as he tried to reach the doorway but they pushed him to the ground. Too many, he thought to himself. Far to many.
He tried to climb back to his feet but a boot pressed down on his chest, then as he tried to struggle harder kicked him in the face. Blood blinded him and he heard a Brenodi voice shouting orders to the others. He couldn't make out what they said, it didn't matter to him, he simply had to get away.
They dragged him to his feet and then shoved him outside. He was still dimly trying to struggle free as the soldiers dropped him on the ground, the formed a crude ring around him, shouting and jeering at his futile attempts to escape.
“Silence.” A authoritarian voice shouted and the Brenodi duly obeyed the order. A tall officer stepped into the circle and gazed down at Cartwight. Theatrically he pulled off his black groves then knelt down to him and cleared the blood away from Cartwights eyes. “Who are you?” He asked with a smile.
Cartwight forced himself to think, then tried to mutter his name but the words came out as gibberish. The smile faded from the officers face.
“Who are you? What unit are you from?” Again Cartwight tried to answer, but the words simply wouldn't come. His heart was pounding, his arms were shaking and all he could see was the officers face staring into his as he replaced the gloves.
“Who is your commander, what are his intentions?” Cartwight whimpered and sank to the ground. The officer stood and removed his side arm from it's holster. He aimed at Cartwights face and stood for a moment. Cartwight new he was trying to give him once last chance, but he couldn't even understand the last questions. What the hell was a commander?
The Brenodi smiled slightly, and released the safety on the weapon. Cartwight shrieked in terror, to scared to even move.
And the Brenodi officer vomited blood.