After one grueling day of enduring the heat from the fiery pit of Hell that the Belkans conjured. General Alban gives up on pulling a flanking maneuver, rather he decides to see if he can use the beachside to stage a two-pronged assault on the Belkan second defense line. He orders one group to perform a frontal assault on the enemy, knowing fully that it's a job that none would envy. The second army group will force a breakthrough from the beach where he knows that its terrain, lacking in proper buildings and covers. From there, they can hopefully get to the shipyard facilities and use those as staging areas for further attacks on the Belkans. The keyword being hopefully.
Alban, to be perfectly honest, is not holding up so well. The army right now is barely functioning. Desertion is at an all-time high with these terror attacks that keep happening every damn night. And the funny thing is, the Geneva Convention can't apply to the method the Belkans are using! So they legit find a new way to wage a war of terror without any repercussion from the international community. Not to mention the increase in assassination being performed on field officers, this has severely hindered his ability to command the battlefield. Thanks to those reasons, Alban has been ailing with sleepless nights recently, and it's not doing any good for his overall health.
Slamming down his cup containing the most disgraced version of a coffee, ever to be made on Earth. Alban massages his forehead, a vain attempt to stem a migraine. With all the recent setbacks after setbacks, he has an inkling idea that the plans he made are not coming to fruition anytime soon.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the break of dawn, gentle rays of sunshine now illuminate the deserted streets of Arash. Rubbles, trash, and spent casings littered all over the place with only rats and stray dogs milling about in the corners. You would say the battered city is deserted if not for a contingency of blue-coat conscripts, silently making their way through humid alleys, abandoned homes, and empty storefronts. A major portion of them are crawling on the sand of the beach, the waves sometimes wash over a few of them. The atmosphere is palpating with anxiety, wariness, and desperado. Suddenly, a dog that's been digging for food in a trash bin, spots one of their groups. It begins barking at the humans that dare approach its territory, not knowing it will be the last thing it will do in its short life.
"Fuck! Get behind covers, now!" A person shouted for the rest of them. This particular group is in a restaurant, facing a large square, which is but a few stones thrown away from the Belkan line. Their supposedly surprise attack is blown away by a stupid dog.
The dog, still barking, creeping ever so slightly closer to the restaurant's broken windows, feels a rush of danger. It then runs straight to a side alley, sadly, not in time to dodge an 8mm Mauser. The bullet hits the dog squarely in the ribs, its concussive force throws the dog at the restaurant's wall, painting it red. The dog lets out its final whimper to the world when more bullets come crashing at the restaurant's front side. Their trails completely wipe away the last veil of watery mist, signaling the beginning of another day of bloodshed.
Knowing full well that everything has now gone to shit, the few Ustian officers present on the field, wearing conscripts attire, blow the whistle for an all-out attack. That's when all hell breaks loose, once again, on Arash. Soldiers of both sides start engaging in the brutal acts of war. Ustian conscripts, having momentarily lost their sense of dread, charge out of the shadow. Some are running with their rifles out, firing in the general direction of their enemy. While others choose to make haste for the nearest cover, electing to put something more solid in between themselves and the Belkans. As for the unfortunate ones, we don't talk about them here, not when they cannot waste time looking behind them.
On the Belkan side of things, they respond to the rush of meat sacks in kind. Having enough time to fortify their location, even more, the Belkans brings out many of their hard-hitting weapons to turn their enemy into minced meat. Not even midway into their charge, the Ustians are met with the regular thumping sound of 20mm autocannons, many of them. As they are just armorless infantries, the large-caliber shells completely cut open their bodies, if not outright sawing them in half. And on multiple occasions, some of them are unlucky enough to be greeted with the high-explosive shell. Those won't even leave an intact body behind, only rain of gore and sometimes, a head. But hey, that's not all. We still have to honor the many more machine gunner crews, and the few tanks the Belkans have stationed. They too have carved a bloodied portion out of the initial Ustian charge. And if the stunned, yet surviving conscripts, fortunate enough to tuck behind cover, have anything left to say. It would be damn effective.
Although their hell is just about to get worse as the familiar Stuka sirens are heard all over the place. The Princess pulls out all the stops and has been coordinating with the Belkan Air Force to draft up a precision strike plan. This is both to ensure extreme effectiveness for the Air Force's first CAS sortie on Arash and to ensure unnecessary damages or friendly-fire accidents. It isn't long before the first 500kg bomb shakes an entire district of Arash.
Dear God, it's not like the conscripts here have never thought about surrendering before, hell they would like to do it now, if not for the officers behind them. The leading cadre is now desperate enough to shoot any sign of insubordination on sight if push comes to shove. And the promise of great honor, riches, and the fear of leaving their families to fall to the clutch of these devils overpowered their dread, somewhat.
"Fire! Keep firing at them you sorry wankers! Pull the trigger as if you're pulling on your girlfriend's panties!" An Ustian Colonel gave out an encouraging roar. "Fire! Kill! Then maybe you will get a chance to get laid finally! First battalion deploys smoke then press forward! Second and Third provide suppressive fire...!"
The Colonel ducks down just in time before a shell blasted the cabinet he was hiding behind into smithereens. Gritting his teeth to endure the pain of being stabbed by wood fragments, the Colonel resumes his speech. "Come on, you silly wankers! Do you want to live forever!? Or want your name to forever be exonerated as heroes, eh!? Charge and attack! Viva la Ustio!"
"VIVA LA USTIO!" The short speech is just about enough to kickstart another tide of conscripts in similar numbers to the previous one. Although the Belkans can keep up the defense for now, what goes to say the fourth, fifth, or sixth wave? Only time will tell whether the price pays for a single mile here, is worth it or not.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sliding to cover just in the nick of time, Sergeant Quellec dodges a torrent of incoming rifle rounds. His previous location, which was a crumbled hallway of a broken-down house, is no different than swiss cheese. Wiping the dust from his eyes, he stands low to take note of the situation around him. The firefight has been going on for two days straight now and the body count has reached a staggering number. Quellec thinks to himself it's probably in the fourth digits, just from this quadrant alone. And if you add them all up... You can pretty much paint the city red.
Yet, it's not like the enemy just mindlessly losing their conscripts for nothing. The sheer volume of fire from the Ustians, four times their current number, causes numerous casualties as the battle goes on. Due to the scale of the battlefield itself, it's also easy to lose track of high-risk enemies, and sometimes they manage to get their heavy weapons into play. It happens a dozen times already, and each time promises pain to the unlucky Grenadiers that got hit by a siege cannon. Command has prioritized the Night Witches to take them out whenever one is spotted, yet they're being stretched thin as it. And for the first time in their deployment, a Witch was shot down.
The enemy has laid out a defensive formation to specifically ambush and counter the Witches. A dense volume of fire, blotting out the airspace, will be their response when a Witch approaches their siege weapon. And as they are unarmored, a Witch was hit in the wing, sending her tumbling down a few blocks away from the square, behind the enemy line. That's where Quellec and his two squads of Storm Trooper are now located.
"Corporal, how is she?" He asked in a hurried tone. They managed to get to the unconscious Witch before the enemy can lay a hand on her. Yet, her wounds seem too severe for his liking.
The medic shakes his head as he finishes patching up the wound on the Witch, a Tengu. "Not good, Sarge. She won't be conscious any time soon and we need to carry her on a stretcher, lest we worsen the wound."
Quellec looks grim, a part of his team is busy staving off the enemy, while the rest are trying to search for an escape route. If they take too long to move out, they will be swarmed by an endless tide of blue coats.
"See to it that she is escorted out of here safely," Quellec pats the medic's shoulder, looking at his eyes and a few others in the commandeered bedroom. "use your lives to keep her safe. That's an order as your Sarge, and my request as a man."
The medic and the other three salute. "Yes, sir!"
Quellec returns the gesture before saying. "We move out immediately once the recons return, prep your gears." He leaves to rejoin the holdout stair. The Night Witches has attained a legendary status in the hearts of many men and women, soldiers in service and civilians back home alike. He will not allow the enemy to tarnish that reputation. Not on his watch as a Storm Trooper.
So with a kindled fury, he channels his mana into a fiery fireball, right above his fingertips. Curling his fingers, he sends it straight out the window, blowing it up in the middle of an enemy squad. That knocks a lot of them out for the count. The commotion he creates deters the Ustians from getting nearer, for now, a chance his recon team takes to fight their way back inside. The three-person crew is approaching fast, he can hear them screaming out bloody help from the telepathic link.
"This is Rusk! Inbound from the East, coming in hot!"
From the building opposite theirs, a figure kicks an Ustian into a window, breaking it in the process. The agile figure, another dark elf like Quellec, jumps out and blasts the poor conscripts with a fistful of lead.
"Covering fire!" He ordered the group inside the building to cover the retreat of the recon team. They begin suppressing other buildings and windows to protect their comrade.
Soon after Rusk runs past the muddied road with two other troopers right behind her. The door is opened in advance to allow them quick entry to safety. Rusk barely managed to get comfy inside when she begins reporting her findings.
"Not good, Sarge... The frontline is not expected to hold for any longer. High Command gives the order for a slow retreat to the Third line, the area in between the Second and Third will act as a buffer zone like before. We need to leave now or we risk being truly isolated!"
"Fuck! Everyone, pack up! Please tell me you got us a ticket outta here!"
Rusk nods, saying. "High Command signals for us to fight our way to the beachside. There are some boats there and we will move out under the cover from the surprise the General has prepared."
"Good enough, prepare your smokes people. We will head out from the Northern side of the building." They all perform their combat check, Quellec gives the order once everyone has given him the clear. "Ready? Deploy smokes!"
Many smoke grenades are thrown out the windows and onto the street, blanketing all four sides of the building in a thick white cloud. " Go! Go! Go!"
The marching order is given out, the two Storm Trooper squads form a protective square around the medic team that is carrying the unconscious Witch. Bullets are whistling above their heads, yet they show no fear nor hesitation in their steps. They maintain the strict formation marching in the smoke, covering every possible angle whether it's high or low. It's when they clear the distance of a few streets away from their previous location that contact is made with the enemy.
"Contact 6 o'clock!" A Trooper shoring up rear security warned before firing his MP 35 at the enemy. The blue coat figure slumbers down to the ground after he takes a few shots. It appears the enemy sends out teams to track them down.
"Double the pace, that won't be the last of them." Quellec reminded his squads.
He contemplates sending out a flare to request support yet knowing it will invite more trouble than its worth, he dismisses the notion. He will not let the other Witches endanger themselves, nor the main force should halt their retreat just to rendezvous with his group. "Eyes peel people, the shooting will surely attract the trackers."
The caution comes not a moment too soon as Rusk shouts. "Contact left!" Her SMG alongside others starts firing at an enemy team, coming up the left alleyway. The ludicrous rate of fire from four SMGs stunned the Ustian team long enough for Quellec to make a decision. "Bank right! Follow the drainage system!" That will lead them to the seawall.
The group diverts their course, moving away from the main street as this time, almost every trooper fire their weapons. Slowly but surely, the Ustians are gaining on them. As a group of enemies is getting dangerously close to them, Quellec decides to deploy two smoke grenades. They keep their heads low as the enemy starts suppressing the smoke cloud, all while making whatever headway as fast as possible. Quellec then orders a few others to throw frag grenades behind them at the smoke as he deems it long enough. Long enough for the enemy to move into the smoke to chase Quellec's group. And boy did they make the wrong call. The frags incur painful death throes in the dozen as they punish the enemy trackers. That ought to buy them some time.
After the explosive farewell gift ordered by Quellec, the enemy ceases further hot pursuit of them for the next ten minutes. Though they do come across many stragglers that were dealt with swiftly. Miraculously, after that whole ordeal, Quellec's section only took one seriously wounded Trooper and two others with light injuries. Yet, they and the Witch can be saved, a notion Quellec is very thankful for.
"Sarge, I see the sea wall up ahead!" Rusk, who is ahead of the formation, calls back. "I will take a team to secure our transportations, sir."
"Go, make sure we have enough room and gas."
"Roger!"
Rusk and her recons split off from the rest. As they search the local seaside houses for working boats, Quellec and his group make their way onto the seawall. There, Quellec has a clear view of the frontline.
"It seems like the Ustian is pressing us hard. A few of them are also pushing from the beach. With any bit of luck, they won't have the strength to turn around and chase us."
"Sarge, I see a Witch!" A Corporal taps Quellec on the shoulder and points his finger at the figure overlooking the battlefield. "I think she is looking for us."
"See if you can get her attention. Ask if the retreating main force can distract the enemy on the beach, long enough for us to head out to the sea."
"On it sir." The Corporal then uses the last bit of his mana to send out a conversation request with the Witch. A request she promptly accepts.
After a minute, the Corporal reports back. "Sir, the main force has already broken contact with the enemy. Though she says that she spotted a ferry East of us and that fire support is on the way."
"Then lets us make haste. I think Rusk is also in the East. Move out, people!"
They've done getting their breather so they all cautiously make their way down the seawall stairs, heading East. Soon, they come across a ferry station and they spot Rusk waving on top of the last ferry on this coastline.
"Hey! Heard you boy need a ride!" It's at this moment that the ferry comes to life, spewing smoke out its chimney.
"Why I do admit this thing is a bit shitty for my taste, it would have to make do. You know how to drive this bucket?" Quellec jested back as he and the rest load up onto the ferry.
"Not me, Private Carmine is the one at the helm. His pops taught him to use one before."
"I'll take what I can then. Carmine, I trust our asses for you to ferry us to safety, don't go and hit a reef now!"
The Private shots back from above, he's in the control room of the ferry. "Have some faith in my father's teaching, Sarge. Though hindsight is 20/20 so it will help if someone is to keep an eye on the sea. This is unknown water for me, after all."
"You heard the lad, go, I want all four corners of the ship armed, vigilant, and dangerous." After hearing the chorus of affirmation and making sure that the wounded are well-tuck in, Quellec head for the control up top. He joins Rusk and Carmine up there, who are already piloting the ship out the pier.
Barely in time to see a destroyer speeding toward their location. "Well fuck me sideways..." Carmine cursed, there's no way in hell they can survive that.
"I would rather not, thank you very much...Look, isn't it flying our division's flag." Rusk pointed out that detail. Her's and Quellec's eyesights are very as they're both dark elves.
Quellec confirms. "That's true, I guess the Princess commandeered a destroyer that we capture, just for this moment."
"Hail the Princess and his Goddess blessed ingenuity. Now we have nothing left to fear." Carmine commented, and it was at this moment that the enemy trackers arrives on the beach. Not a moment too soon, they opened fire at the sea-going ferry.
They duck down for cover, Rusk cursing Carmine's bloody mouth. "Must you jinxed us like this, bastard?!"
"How the fuck should I know? Don't tell me you don't want to hug the Princess's knees and thank her for the favor!?"
"Stop bickering like children and watch where we're going you fools!" Quellec reined them in.
Carmine then swirls the control, angling the ferry further away from the enemy. They then see the destroyer veering to the right, making way for them. As the destroyer is very fast, they soon passed the ferry before using their armor to block incoming fire for them. All this happens while the destroyer captain sounds his horn in greeting, a notion Carmine returns by using theirs.
Moments later, Quellec and the rest see the destroyer's turrets turning toward the beach. It's at this moment that they know, the Ustian fucked up.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hah...Hah...Hah..." A soldier carrying a radio pack struggles to maintain his breath. He runs up to his retreating comrades before turning around and on one of his knees, aiming his trusted rifle, he fires a shot. The shot hits true, claiming a life of an enemy that was rushing up to a fellow Grenadier.
He pulls the bolt back only to realize his rifle is out of ammo so he resumes running back, just like the rest of his comrades in arms. The order to retreat had been given out long ago, his group is one of the last to shore up the rear, buying time for the main force. It's a highly dangerous task, he knows, yet his company has the strongest fighting strength right now as they were put in reserve before today. Yet, they along few other companies, are just barely holding on.
Spotting a broken pillar of a decimated house, big enough to hide him, he dashes behind it and slid to the ground. A wandering thought creeps up to his mind on how this house could have been a pretty homely place if the dusty furniture have anything to say about it. He calms his breath before taking a peek from the pillar, seeing his friends dragging the casualties back to the rear, others that can still fight are trying their best to stem the enemy tide. The hateful blue coats are growing in numbers.
Seeing that the situation is not good, he takes the liberty, in lieu of his Lieutenant, may he rest in peace, to report to HQ. "Company Command, this is First Platoon, we've lost the square! We can't hold it!" His voice contains an urgency that he himself never thought he had.
"This is Command, orders to follow, mark high-value areas with red smokes, fire support from the sea, evac the area, rendezvous with the main force at Helmsway intersection."
"Copy that, Command! Will do!" He shouts out to the Grenadiers that have launchers. "Orders from above, we have fire support! Use it!"
"Finally we can get one over these cock-suckers!" Hurriedly attaching his rifle grenade, a Grenadier launches it behind a wall. Moments later, the first red smoke appears on the square, near a grocery store. Almost a minute later, the first whistling sound is heard from above before...
*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM *BOOM*
Four major explosions blow the marked area to kingdom come. Much to the delight of the Grenadiers and the shock of the enemy. The radio comes to life as a communication line is patched through.
"This is the KMS Vauquelin, requesting contact with Ironblood forces at Arash. I repeat this is the KMS Vauquelin requesting contact with Ironblood forces at Arash. We need target coordinates if we are to provide accurate fire supports. I repeat we need target coordinates to provide accurate fire supports."
He quickly unfolded his map of Arash, with it many markers depicting the current battle zone. Picking up the radio phone, he says in a jubilant tone. "This is First Platoon, Eagle Six, boy are we glad to see you, Vauquelin! We need fire support at Foxtrot Six and Echo Five, over!"
"Roger that, Eagle Six!"
"Fire for effect, Vauquelin. Eagle Six out!"
He leans his head on the pillar, and relief washes over his body. Finally, some help arrives last. Closing his eyes for a bit, he can hear thumping sounds reverberating from the sea. Seconds later, many explosions completely change the landscape of the square, formally part of the second defense line. And as many 139mm shells keep raining down from Heaven with deadly precision, the Ustians have no choice but to cut their losses. Thus ending the second phase of the Siege of Arash. A phase that will soon infamous as one of the bloodiest urban conflicts for years to come.
For now, though, both sides have earned their respite. Only time will tell just how this battle will end in the future. Yet, I think one person has the answer for that, no?
"Oh yeah, it's all coming together." A certain Princess smirked with folded arms as she look down at the holographic display.