One Behemoth was a safeguard, two a statement of intent, three was practically a declaration of war. Standing on the very precipice of human territory, in direct challenge to the Godechill Mount, all three Behemoths stood in deathly attendance.
The first of the massive constructs had a wide torso segment layered in thick slabs of iron and steel. Steam seemed to evaporate off its solid hull as countless exhaust ports released the unrelenting energies of its barely dormant reactor. Its skull, the canopy of which housed the pilot and his operations crew, was the shape of a bull's head with two crudely constructed tusks built along the lip of its face. Its arms were grossly oversized weapons of mass destruction, beam weaponry crafted to unleash vibrant rays of radioactive energy upon any foe. Entire regiments could die under such a ridiculous abuse of weaponry, and that wasn't even counting the missile pods that were its bulging shoulder segments.
The second war machine was smaller, its back hunched like a leaning predator, and its legs built more like some kind of predatory bird. Two smaller gun's were built into its chassis, each able to unleash a seemingly endless stream of high caliber shells against any enemy force. Designed to be faster than its larger cousin, this war machine was built more for forward reconnaissance, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.
The third Behemoth was the most worrisome. Its bulk rested on a quadrupal set of legs, and was designed to carry an artillery piece for leveling entire city blocks. Anti-air armaments were installed, covering its exterior, rendering any air power meaningless to take it down.
It was clear the Redevers were sending a message.
Each edifice of death and destruction were painted in somewhat fresh livery; dark black, burnt red, and diagonal blue stripes decorated each of them. The sigil of the Unforgiven Sixteenth Behemoth Murder Cult was proudly displayed over each of their foreheads, a circular chainsaw emblem made up of rows of teeth, intertwined with gory entrails.
That sigil had been seen multiple times during the last war, often overshadowed by corpse strewn twisters collecting the many dead bodies left behind in their wake.The Murder Cults were partly the reason why her Bloody Winged Regiment came into being, for it took cold blooded soldiers to fight on any battlefield where Behemoths were involved, and not balk in terror.
Tia Serrano couldn't stop looking at them. She repositioned her desk so that she could sit across from her giant armor glass window, and glare at them. She liked to think she was returning their menacing gaze with her own vicious spite.
The Godechill Mount could weather any storm thrown at it, and she had weapons of her own to unleash. All they required was a single verbal command, and the full wrath of her bastion would level the wastelands. She only hoped it would be enough to stop, or even slow down, those three monstrosities.
Word had been sent to Voxsturm, and Dreadnoughts were on their way. It would take another two days for the first to arrive, and until then she needed to hold the fort. There was still a hope that all of this would blow over, and that this show of force would dissolve as quickly as it had arrived. The last thing the Kaiser wanted was another war, not now at least, and Tia had been given expressive orders not to do anything irrational.
It was getting hard to ignore the growing threat right on her doorstep, however.
Just what are those bastards thinking? Tia fiddled with the tiny silver bar dangling from her necklace. It was the last keepsake she had from her late husband, his engraving still readable on the underside. She found her fingers stroking the sliver of metal whenever she found herself on the eve of a fight.
Tia was so fixated on the world outside, she hadn't even noticed her first captain coming to see her.
"Ma'am," her First Captain stood at attention behind her, his back facing the door. His dark grey uniform was neatly pressed, several medals decorated his chest, the mark of the bloody rose was among them. "We haven't been able to make contact with anyone on the other side. Should I relay another message?"
"No…" Tia sighed, not looking away from the window.
Several seconds passed, the tension building with every second. "We await your orders ma'am," her captain finally spoke.
"Seal the gates, seal the bastion," Tia's voice was stern, unforgiving.
"Yes ma'am."
"But first, dispatch the scar team." Tia finally broke her gaze from the outside world, swiveling around in her chair to look over to her adjutant.
He raised a brow at the command. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" He asked.
Tia sharpened her eyes, not wishing to repeat her orders.
Noticing her sudden aggravation, the captain nodded, but wasn't willing to simply let it go. "I apologize ma'am, I know its not my place. It's just…"
"Just what?"
He cleared his throat before continuing, "Once we seal the gates, all supply and logistics to any outside military asset will be lost. Your essentially dispatching them alone without support."
Tia hadn't blinked since first casting her glare at him. She was getting annoyed with him stating the obvious. Sometimes, risks had to be taken when the objective was valuable enough.
"They could always detour to Voxsturm's northern gate if necessary," she consented to his concerns with a small concession. The northern wall of Voxsturm was over a hundred kilometers away, but not impossible for the scar team to reach with their mobile transport.
"Of course ma'am," her first captain didn't seem pleased. "I'll debrief the team now."
Tia swiveled back around so that she could face the window again. "Be sure to expel all Redever trash from the bastion while your at it."
That made her captain pause. "Ma'am, if we do that…it'll practically give them an excuse to trigger a war."
Tia fought the urge to grind her teeth. "How is it they can march right up to the very brink of war, and we can do nothing but sit back, and wait for the punch?"
"There is another matter," he cautioned. "We have a number of merchants and traders in the bastion as well. Some of them are even listed on your weekly calendar. Should I expel them too?"
A tiny bead of sweat ran down her chest, caressing the tender soft curvature of her breasts. Just thinking of her weekly treatments of Allucia being denied was a shock to her reality. Her nipples stiffened, as her throat grew dry.
It wasn't much of a secret that Tia was dependent on the Redever narcotic, she wasn't the only survivor who barely escaped a lifetime of sexual depravity and sexual servitude, but it wasn't something widely broadcasted to the army in general. She had been trying hard to wean herself off the substances, but the process was long and sometimes arduous, and her addiction was still quite potent.
Without Allucia, Tia wondered how long she would remain functional before descending into the realms of a deranged lunatic.
No, she leaned forward rubbing her eyes. I wouldn't become like one of those who were given three full vials of the stuff, but…I don't think I would be able to control myself for long. She quietly contemplated her predicament.
Just once she tried to fully divorce herself from Allucia, and within two weeks she was unable to leave her private chamber, for she was thoroughly engrossed with an unending demand to sate the carnal needs of her flesh. No matter how much she attended to herself, she could never reach a fulfilling climax, and yet her hunger was beyond dispute. As soon as she relented to taking some more modified Allucia her body finally surrendered to her fingers touch, and her mind could think clearly once again.
"Rescind that order…" She relented with much contempt. She hated the Redevers for what they did to her, and she hated herself for being so weak. "But seal the gates, keep everyone locked inside for now."
"Sounds good, I'll relay the orders at once."
"And summon the next trader and consort on my calendar while your at it." Tia's legs were shaking, her shoulders slumped. "And tell him to bring me something, and someone, special."
The captain didn't acknowledge the order verbally, instead offering her a quiet nod before leaving the room.
Within seconds of being alone, the commander of the fort was already unbuttoning her uniform with quacking fingers. She cursed to herself, while preparing to answer her bodies sultry demands.