NOTE: We've created a document wherein you can view the different references of the various military hardware mentioned in this chapter, which you can view here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m8IGI1y_Cos3E_TaBD5eWW-imh8jbHFkXu005RWjmFk/edit?usp=sharing
Cent. Calendar 05/08/1639, outside Sanders, Leifor, 19:50
The sun had long set beneath the horizon to the west, but flashes of light erupting all over continued to interrupt the reign of darkness. A daunting light show of bright red tracers, muzzle flashes from high caliber guns, and hellfire erupting from entire city blocks being leveled by bombs and artillery rounds coming down from above could be seen from a distance. As gruesome and terrifying as it looked, the fighting was fortunately far from Sanders, a major industrial city that had been formerly on the frontlines barely a month ago. Now, it was a city without life–its people forced behind the shutters and doors of their houses by fear–as the artillery and air wing of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army (IGVA) consistently pushed the frontline further and further away, leaving in their wake a demolished Leiforian resistance.
Somewhere nearby, a camouflaged command installation of the occupying forces stood. Here, commanders of the 86th Panzergrenadier Division, one of the five mechanized infantry divisions deployed in Leifor, had gathered–far from the eyes and ears of their enemies–to discuss something important, for winds blowing down from the Malmund mountains far to the northeast carry unsavory news from the still-unconquered parts of the country.
“As you were.”
Generalleutnant Bertram Stroman, having entered the brightly lit meeting room to an array of officers in their fatigues who stood up to salute him, ordered them back to their seats. Before taking his own seat, he unscrolled a rolled-up map and placed it down on the table for all to see. His eyes looked heavy–perhaps even greater than the weight of the canvas he unfurled.
“I’ll get straight down to business.”
The map was a geographical rendition of the expansive extent of the Federal Empire of Leifor. Drawn on it were the approximate frontlines as of today, the 5th of Aureit (Month 8), disposition of Gra Valkan (in blue) and Leiforian (in red) forces, and most important of all were the filled arrows pointing from their frontlines towards Leiforian positions. Near the top edge of the map were the characters for “Unternehmen Rammbock.” The more the officers looked at it, the more their eyes matched the weight shown by Bertram’s. Sensing the weight of the atmosphere in the room, he tried to level things by saying that it was beyond his control.
“Yes, yes, I know. There are already complications, but this is already approved for the 12th; our hands are tied.”
The map was none other than a general overview of Unternehmen Rammbock, a major pre-emptive offensive centered on a pincer on the remnants of an Army Group based around the city of Havro.
One of the officers scratched their head and sighed.
“I guess this is what the silence from command has led up to.”
Bertram and the rest nodded in silent yet frustrated agreement.
It has been two months since war broke out between Leifor, its protectorates Paganda and Irnetia, and Gra Valkas. Despite securing the capitulations of the two island kingdoms mere hours into the campaign, an anticipated sweeping victory in Leifor slipped out of their hands; even though the imperial family and the federal government in the capital issued their surrender, the rest of the country didn’t. Through a mix of disrupted lines of communication, general confusion, and nationalistic fervor, the Leiforians refused–or didn’t even know of–the surrender. The Gra Valkans have finally bit off more than they could chew; thus, a full-scale invasion of the country awaited them. Logistical problems persist due to the unprecedented escalation of the scale of the conflict, but as luck would have it, the Leiforians mobilized slower, permitting the landing IGVA to secure their gains and supply lines and use their superior warfighting capabilities to steamroll any resistance. Be that as it may, even now the mobilized remnants of the Leiforians far outnumber the Gra Valkans 20 to 1; they may have total air supremacy and their artillery far more precise and deadly, but their daunting inferiority in number meant that every barrel and airframe was operating 24/7.
This was also due to the limited scale at which the imperial government in Ragna advertised the war to be: a small conflict to gain land and fame among the dog-eat-dog-minded powers of Asherah. The end to the generational, 40-year war with Kain brought them an unprecedented peace–one which the war-weary Gra Valkans were ready to experiment with and accept. With that in mind, the backfiring of the hasty decision of greenlighting Unternehmen Donnerschlag to grab Leifor in its entirety would be disastrous should it be made public. To maintain popular apathy–for there was no longer any popular support to the war–the government opted to keep the military presence in Leifor limited, in addition to censoring the death toll and other numbers and labeling their deployment as simply for “snuffing out guerillas” and “securing POWs.” As a consequence, there were only 13 divisions from two army corps and two air forces (around 760 aircraft)–a comparatively small deployment for a big land war. Against the estimated 26 or so Leiforian Army divisions still found to be active in the northeast alone, it would be disastrous should the enemy mount a massed, organized push against their frontlines.
“That should mean then that...”
One of the officers openly mouthed out, the anxiety subtly apparent from the wavering tone of his voice.
“Yes. There’s no doubt about that GD report now.”
Bertram responded to him, referring to a report made by the Geheimdienst (GD), their government’s intelligence organization.
Several days ago, the GD released a certain report to the military regarding the movements of the Leiforian Army. Through extensive use of signals intelligence, rumors, and human intelligence from apprehended Leiforian civilians suspected of military espionage, as well as aerial reconnaissance provided by the Army Air Service, they report that their findings point to a surviving Leiforian general by the name of Jonas Jakobsen rapidly reorganizing surviving elements and mobilizing men and equipment at an unprecedented scale near the city of Havro. Implicit mentions of a coming counteroffensive in known and suspected Leiforian radio and manacomm channels add credence to a feared big, strategic movement all across the frontlines. The report then concludes with high confidence that a major counteroffensive is imminent and puts the possible date to approximately early next month–the start of autumn.
The report unnerved the Gra Valkan commanders. With the government already pressing them to secure the capitulation of the last regional governor and end all major actions early next month, they were already planning a culminating offensive by the end of Aureit (Month 8). However, with the Leiforians managing to adapt and organize at a speed and scale higher than they anticipated, the offensive was redrawn and pushed closer in time to next week.
“My bad for dawdling, but if there aren’t any more impressions, I’ll get down to the crux of this offensive.”
Securing the affirmative nods of his officers, Bertram brought out a couple more maps that were more specific in terms of detail and their primary objectives.
Dubbed Rammbock for Battering Ram, the three-day long offensive’s main objectives were to overrun and destroy the still organizing Leiforian forces and take the northeast regional capital Havro. The operation would utilize elements from all their combat-capable divisions, with five coming from their northern front (III Army Corps) and eight coming from their primary southern front (II Army Corps), which would form the primary pincer against Havro. The operation would open with bombing runs from the two air services and long-range strikes from the attached artillery brigades. They would be aiming at known enemy camps, supply depots, communications nodes, armor, heavy artillery, anti-aircraft gun emplacements, and so on. After those are neutralized, they would then be concentrating their efforts on the heavily fortified mountain defense line known as the Helsingsand Line, a defensive network of reinforced concrete bunkers, heavy artillery in armored turrets, and other defensive emplacements lining the border with Mu. Two of these special defensive positions–triple 301mm long-range guns mounted in rotating battleship turrets–are located near Havro and are capable of providing potent artillery support; as such, they would be subjected to constant bombing and artillery strikes to keep their big guns from firing. While that is happening, the tank, mechanized infantry, infantry divisions, and engineering and support units would move in.
“This is where we come in.”
As the air and artillery war unfolds, ground forces would stream in and break their present frontlines, destroying surviving Leiforian units as they pressed on. For each day, the elements of both the northern and southern pincer would advance a certain distance, securing designated objectives on which their robust engineering units would be constructing forward operating bases. It is from these bases that they continue the push to Havro come the following morning, granted the units are replenished and still capable of combat. With the Leiforians having nonexistent air power, their farthest-reaching batteries on the defense line silenced or preoccupied with their airstrikes, very limited nighttime fighting capabilities, and comparatively outdated artillery, they’re confident that they will not put up much of a resistance against their push.
“With the level of destruction raining on them, we should be expecting pockets of disorganized attempts at resistance at best. It’s already known that they’re capable of hiding their shit quite well–so much so that air recon missed three to four battalions back in the Sanders campaign–so those pockets may still be heavily armed. Expect heavy tanks, anti-tank guns, mortars, bunkers, machine gun nests, gun carriers, and so on.”
Bertram glanced upward for a moment to check his officers’ responses before continuing.
“Alright. Now onto the front in Maniger...”
He then pointed to a Leiforian-held city in the middle of the Leifor far to the east of Sanders labeled ‘Maniger’. It was completely encapsulated by a blue line demarcating the frontline there with icons denoting Gra Valkan artillery batteries all over it.
Cent. Calendar 08/08/1639, Army Base Havro, Havro, Leifor, 14:30
“Excuse me! Coming through!”
A messenger boy hastily slips through the throng of people coming and going through the cramped interior of this underground corridor, almost letting go of a letter he was merely holding by the edge. His khaki coat was unbuttoned–perhaps because it didn’t come with any–and his face, hands, and cap were dirty with soot and mud. He thought himself unbecoming because of the detestable state of his getup, for he was currently in perhaps the most important military command installation in all of Leifor. But apparently, no one seemed to care–everyone was preoccupied with trying not to lose their sanity, for their beloved nation was at the stake of being obscured in the history books.
Just a little over two months ago, the predominant boogeyman haunting the city folk of Havro was their neighbor to the east, the expansionist power that was Mu. Having swallowed the northeastern edges of Leiforian territory in recent memory, everyone was most scared of the sound of royal Muish guns and bombers conducting exercises across the border. As such, their big guns, tanks, artillery, and infantry divisions all faced east to welcome the eventual incursion of the Muish into their lands, with the west being little more than boring farmland and forests. It all changed, however, when the Gra Valkans, an “empire” they thought docile and subject to Mu’s whim, invaded from the ocean to the west and overwhelmed everything they put up. In as little as a month, they were in Sanders, the closest major city to the south. But then, the military, despite having been broken and battered, assured them that “autumn was coming”–the season nationalist writers associate with hard times... for the enemy.
However...
After navigating his way through the maze-like bunker, the messenger boy reached the end of a corridor which had a single heavy-duty steel door that was guarded by a soldier. If it wasn’t already apparent from his disheveled appearance, the soldier had an attitude.
“What’s your business here, boy?”
He barked, his deep voice echoing in the brick-lined corridors, which was followed by the flick of the safety on his rifle being disengaged.
“Important business!”
The boy, remembering his informant’s words–“hold up the envelope’s seal, and you’re good to go”–did as he was told and stood his ground against the soldier. Seeing the bright red seal firmly stamped onto the letter the boy held, the soldier became flustered and quickly put away his rifle. He then stood off to the side and opened the heavy-duty steel door via a rotating mechanism on the wall. As the big, girthy door steadily swiveled out of the way, the boy didn’t wait for it to be fully open and ran through as soon as the gap was spacious enough for him to slip. Emerging onto the other side, he traversed the hallway until he arrived at the only lit room towards the end. Without even knocking on the door, he swung it open and entered the room, earning the stares of multiple military men of high rank (as noted by their rank insignia) who were in the middle of a heated discussion. The bald one in the middle of the bunch was the first to raise his voice.
“What are you doing here?!”
The hostility in his tone was not lost on the boy, who subconsciously flinched. However, another military man stood up from his seat and held back the brash bald man.
“Wait.”
He then reached his hand out to the boy as if he was expecting him to hand something over. The boy, without uttering a word, simply handed over the letter to the kind man.
“You may go.”
The man then relieved the boy of his task and sent him off, which he promptly did and disappeared back into the hallway, leaving behind the military men who were stumped as to what the letter was for.
“Is that what I think it is?”
The bald man pointed to the letter, to which the kind man simply sighed as if in expectation that it didn’t contain good news.
“Moment of truth.”
Breaking the seal, the man opened the letter. Despite being muddied and stained with drops of blood and sweat, the writing was still legible. It was addressed to him, Ungforstander Jonas Jakobsen. Its contents, sadly, contained nothing but bad news, but the fact that he was able to read it was already a boon to them, for it was a matter of life or death.
Sighing heavily, he put the letter away and looked at his officers, who were all impatient to hear what it had to say.
“Well, I guess it was inevitable. The Gra Valkans appeared to have caught on; we’ve got confirmation from our sources in Sanders, Pisbo, and every town in between that they’re doing the same things as before they took Sanders. Gentlemen, it looks like an offensive on Havro is imminent.”
The already heavy air within the closed space of the underground meeting room managed to get even heavier. His officers all showed their dread, fear, anxiety, and agitation as they either pounded the table with their fists or placed their hands over their faces. It was something that they knew was going to happen, given the almost godly capability of the Gra Valkans to conduct intelligence gathering, but they never expected them to catch on so fast. As to what exactly the Gra Valkans caught a whiff of...
“Ungforstander! What of Operation Efterårsvågen? Our preparations will not be ready until the start of next month at the earliest!”
Jakobsen sank back in his seat, placed his hand over his forehead, and began mulling over things.
Operation Efterårsvågen, which meant Autumn Awakening, was their planned counteroffensive at the break of autumn. With their overwhelming numerical superiority and homeland advantage, an Army Corps-sized unit (at least on paper, not counting what they’ve lost to bombings and artillery strikes) would be descending from the city of Havro like an avalanche onto both the southern and northern fronts. The operation’s primary objectives included pushing back the northern Gra Valkan front, the weakest and most tenuous of the two, but most important of all was to rouse the waning fighting spirit of the Leiforian nation. The architect of this operation, Jakobsen–the sole remaining high-ranking general of the Leiforian Army–hoped to wage a propaganda campaign from Havro as Efterårsvågen was underway and brand it as the resurgent Leiforian nation fighting back against the oppressive invaders. As a grounded nationalist himself, he knew of the strong national identity his countrymen possessed and wished to utilize that to whittle away at the Gra Valkan hold on their country. Unfortunately for him and his men, the complication of reforming his Army Group North from the maimed remnants of infantry divisions while under the constant threat of airstrikes had been proving to be a difficult task. Now that the enemy knows that they’re planning a counteroffensive, everything is at risk of falling apart.
Nevertheless, Jakobsen knows that not all is lost yet.
“We can still turn this to our advantage.”
Standing up and pointing to the map, the aura of determination emanating from him emboldened the disheartened officers in the room.
“Based on the extremely fast pace the Gra Valkans have been moving the entirety of this war, we should be expecting their preemptive offensive to commence in under two weeks. Their target would obviously be Havro, but it’s also possible that they’ve diverted elements of their forces to other flanks to push in all directions. Now, let me be clear: it is simply impossible that we will be able to get our forces ready for Efterårsvågen before they launch their offensive. Fortunately, we can still achieve our objective by showing that we are holding against the Gra Valkans’ attack: we’ll show to our fellow countrymen and soldiers that resistance isn’t futile and that they could join us in doing so. Not only that, but this would simplify things for us; since we’re now on the defensive, we should be able to have our units dig in and camouflage themselves for the inevitable.”
Jakobsen pointed to several lines on the map which showed the depth of their defenses and the disposition of their units along said defenses and began issuing orders. His officers immediately jotted them down for dissemination afterward.
“With that out of the way, we will now have to bring out our trump cards.”
He pulled out a folded map from the stack of maps and papers underneath the table, unfolded it, and laid it flat on top. The map was that of Havro’s defenses, including a series of dots and shapes around a solid line that ran in a zigzag fashion through the mountainous forests to the city’s northwest.
“Using my powers as the acting commander in chief of the Leiforian Army, I will assume command of the defenses, fortifications, manpower, and firepower of the Helsingsand Line.”
The Helsingsand Line was the name given to the series of heavily fortified defenses, bunkers, and batteries built by the Leiforian government along their long border with Mu out of fears of an invasion following the systematic encroachment of Muish land grabbing prior to and immediately after the Great War. The defenses, coupled with the generally mountainous and difficult terrain that they were built in, were hoped to be able to channel the invading Royal Muish Army into chokepoints, if not stop them altogether. With the Gra Valkans invading from the west, the Helsingsand Line has been mostly useless–up until now, at least.
“Fortunately for us, two of the superheavy batteries are positioned to the north and east of the city. These should have the range and punch to challenge even the notorious Gra Valkan artillery, which proved countless times to be untouchable by our own. They will have to be activated for operation within two weeks. I assume that will be possible?”
He turned towards one of his officers responsible for the Helsingsand Line in their administrative district.
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Once they’re up, have them point southwest.”
“Of course.”
“Now...”
His fingers hovered over several dots scattered randomly across the forest to the east of the city just before the Helsingsand Line.
“How long until we get these ready?”
The officer he was talking to saw him pointing specifically to the dots on the forest, causing his eyes to momentarily drop to the ground in hesitation. After a while, he managed to find the words he was looking for.
“Around the same time as the other superheavy batteries, sir.”
For the first time since their meeting started, a smile–although slight and subtle–appeared on Jakobsen’s face.
“Perfect.”
With much of what he had in mind communicated with his officers, he formally adjourned the meeting. As they chatted amongst themselves over coordination regarding unit movements, Jakobsen leaned back on his chair and continued to mull over the storm that loomed on the horizon. His trump cards were the Helsingsand Line’s superheavy batteries, heavily armored battleship turrets with powerful artillery, and their ultimate weapon: seven gigantic cannons mounted on railway cars. Housed inside densely camouflaged tunnels, which were the dots in the forest he pointed to, these pieces were more than capable of outranging even the dreaded artillery pieces of the Gra Valkans. These were developed and created with the utmost secrecy; the Leiforian military believed that these were key to stopping a Muish armored assault coming from the northeast. These were so obscure and secret that he only found out their existence after he had evacuated to Havro last month and realized he was the highest ranking officer left in all of Leifor. This, compared with the fact that the tunnels and rail lines are all densely camouflaged and that there exist numerous false tunnels, it is likely that the Gra Valkans also don’t know of their existence. However, the most important role that these trump cards would play isn’t their long-reaching punch but rather their value as targets; by presenting their enemy with these valuable assets that present the greatest threat, Jakobsen hopes to push the Gra Valkans to divert resources–especially their artillery and attack aircraft–away from supporting their offensive. And yet even then...
“Who in the world are these people?”
Handing them defeat after defeat in what he could only describe as an absurdly fast war, the Gra Valkan military was unlike anything he’s ever seen. Their emphasis on speed wasn’t strange since both the Muish and the Imperials employ armored breakthrough forces, but the Gra Valkans were taking things multiple steps further. Almost every single infantry force that they employed came with small tanks that provided lethal fire support. Their armored forces always pushed with a level of ferocity and speed that–in common sense–would have stretched their lines of communication, and yet they always still appear to be well supplied and coordinated. Their air force was absolutely phenomenal, always knowing where to land their hits and making sure that the destruction they delivered was absolute–if they couldn’t, they’d completely level an entire sector of the map. The high-pitched shrill that their otherworldly engines would make have given the Leiforians the habit of ducking under hard cover whenever they would be heard. Then, there were the stories of their fabled rotorcraft capable of taking off and landing vertically. These massive beasts were capable of transporting both men and machines, with some eyewitnesses claiming that they’d even seen some carrying tanks through the air. Having come across numerous reports of enemy armor and infantry appearing from sectors of the map where they’ve never been spotted before, Jakobsen and his officers were driven to believe that these were made possible by those rotorcraft.
“Ah well... ‘The better the enemy, the better the fight will be,’ or so they said.”
Chuckling as he gave off a hearty sigh, Jakobsen was determined to see this fight to the end; if Leifor was doomed to lose, then it would go down gloriously.
Cent. Calendar 12/08/1639, all across Leifor, 6:35
As the skies above the Malmund mountains to the east started to glow wine red from the sun crawling up from behind them, the song of chickens and birds heralding the morning followed the rustling of the trees swaying from the cool, late summer winds. The thin tops of tall pine trees and towering industrial plant smokestacks dotted the landscape of eastern Leifor, but they were soon joined by the thousands of artillery barrels slowly rising to face the indigo sky. All across the country, the muzzles of these towed and self-propelled guns were being primed for combat, destined to destroy and set ablaze countless hectares of Leiforian territory just to smite their enemies. The clock continued to tick–well until it was overshadowed by the concert of gunfire.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The glow of thousands of muzzle flashes welcomed the first rays of the sun descending from the mountains, all while their thundering echoes whiplashed across the still air. As the clock continued to tick, so did the guns; already, there were tens of thousands of explosives flying up into the air, headed towards the unsuspecting Leiforian regular or militiaman.
Joining them were formations of hundreds of winged beasts–the indomitable tactical bombers and strike aircraft of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army Air Service (IGVAAS)–their bellies and wings lined to the brim with ordnance that could level the capital Leiforia a thousand times over. Before long, even the rhythmic beat of artillery fire was eclipsed by the deafening roar of their jet engines.
“Thirty seconds to target.”
On board one of the Ks-223 Stacheliges Dach (nicknamed the Haussier by its flight crews) tactical bombers headlining the aerial ‘battering ram,’ the pilot maintained his heading and speed as their targets fast approached. One of the other crew members, his navigator, maintained control over the loaded internal bay. Through his tiny observation window, he could only see the endless green of forests below them. Be that as it may, if their pre-planned flight route was correct and he was to drop the bombs as timed, then they’re sure to be on target.
“Fifteen seconds.”
For the majority of their sorties in this operation, due to the relatively low threat from the anti-aircraft fire they faced–either because most were already destroyed or were too far behind in capability to present a threat to their planes–they were going to perform level bombing runs. As the countdown passed the ten-second mark, the navigator activated the switch that opened the bomb bay doors.
Wirrrrrrr!
He felt the airframe shake and groan, but the machinery–enabled by the efforts of the maintenance crew that continuously keeps this beast capable of flying–proved to him that it was still in the fight.
“Five seconds.”
Their extremities felt like tensing up, but their professional training and plentiful experience were enough to keep them from doing so. Everyone counted down in their heads in sync with the audible countdown.
Three. Two. One.
It was still an unceasing ocean of green beyond the observation window, but the navigator trusted the numbers. Without hesitation or feeling, his fingers flicked. Upon doing so, he felt a noticeable change in the weight of the airframe around him as 12 high explosive 500lb bombs were jettisoned from the internal bomb bay of the Haussier, embarking on a planned freefall on a seemingly empty part of the forest. Then, seconds later...
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The shockwaves from the blasts of the bombs going off were able to reach even the Haussier that was already turning back, assailing them in thunderclaps that were audible even with their comm sets on. However, these were nothing more than a preamble for what came next.
KABLAM!!!
A gigantic fireball erupted from the forest, ballooning to a height comparable to ten-story buildings and easily dwarfing the conifers surrounding it. The explosion was the result of a direct hit by one of their bombs on artillery munitions dump hidden in the middle of a forest by the Leiforian Army: a pretty good indication that they were right on target.
“Hohoho! That’s just perfect!”
“That’s an ammo dump for sure!”
“Heh! At this rate, we’ll run out of space to mark our kills!”
The three crew members each made their thrilled reactions to the explosion known.
“This is Abelisch F. All targets are hit; returning to base.”
As their flight commander radioed back to base about their expected success, the tactical bombers were all on their way back. With their first sortie of Rammbock out of the way, the aviators prepared themselves for more as this was not going to be the last.
- - -
Meanwhile, back at the artillery formations, a shout echoes throughout the vicinity and through their comms. Despite it being part of a protocol for the gunners, it never ceases to impart a complex sense of relief and dread.
“Splash!”
Elsewhere, kilometers from where they were deployed, gigantic explosions erupted from a grove on a hill overlooking a village, the plumage dwarfing the adult conifers they felled. The shockwaves from the blasts reached the village, breaking windows and glassware.
“We’re under attack!”
“Get inside! Now!”
Men and women of varying ages, tending to their livestock and preparing for breakfast, quickly went under the nearest cover they could find. Some went into their houses, some into their barns, some into their basements. Before they knew it, however, the barrage ceased. Up on the hill where the explosions took place, craters littered with burnt steel and all sorts of maimed remains were all that was left. As shell-shocked yet curious individuals emerged from their hiding places to find their homes mostly free of damage from the shelling, the wails of an air raid siren whirring to a life filled the air.
WooooOOOO!!!
“Look!”
A cry from some stranger beckoned on everyone to turn their gazes upward: formations of dozens of fast flying aircraft decorated with foreign, non-Leiforian, identifiers streaked across the orange morning sky, leaving in their wake the bellow of their engines and onlooking civilians fearing for their future.
- - -
Several kilometers north of Havro, a hill protruding slightly from the conifer forest around it had a striking feature: a gigantic steel turret sporting three long 301mm guns on a concrete platform. Modeled after the main batteries of the Leiforian Navy battleship Havruen, this superheavy battery–one of countless batteries encompassing the Helsingsand Line–overlooked both a ravine through which a river flowed to the north and the sprawling city of Havro to the south. As the sun peeked out of the tall Malmund mountains to the east, a situation was brewing inside the underground complex found underneath the hill.
“Oi! Lookouts say we’ve got more than 50 enemy aircraft converging on us!”
An artilleryman came running into the barracks, spooking his comrades who were still lying asleep on their bunks.
“Just us? Well, shi–”
Before one of his comrades could complete his expletive, the alarms went off inside the barracks, sending the still sleepy soldiers onto their feet. An officer barged into the room and shouted, adding to the cacophony of sounds irritating their ears.
“Get to your combat stations now! The Gra Valkans are attacking!”
Before long, personnel from multiple barracks were running towards their positions all across the artillery complex. Just as they arrived at their posts, they began hearing the sound of gunfire beyond the wailing sirens inside the complex. Outside, camouflaged anti-aircraft gun emplacements–already pointed up at the sky–unleashed their volleys at the encroaching bombers. Unfortunately for them, the numerous tactical bombers and attack aircraft proved to be as effective in their targeting capabilities as they were in harmlessly speeding past the poorly aimed shots of the Leiforian defenses; autocannon rounds fired from the ground attack aircraft ripped through the thin veil of camouflage nets and foliage around the emplacements, maiming and slaughtering any soul unfortunate enough not to be behind hard cover. Meanwhile, the bomb bay doors of the Gra Valkan tactical bombers soullessly flung open, allowing the aircraft to shower the heavily armored battery with a deadly payload of bombs.
“Incoming! Brace!!!”
One of the more eagle-eyed anti-aircraft crews screamed, his voice being picked up by the intercoms at his emplacement and transmitted all throughout the complex. Hearing this, the personnel inside the complex repeated the lines to their fellow comrades.
“Brace!!!”
Just as everyone scrambled to either duck beneath or hold onto something, the ground beneath and around them started to shake. Explosions rocked the concrete and steel of and around the formidable turret, sending shockwaves so powerful they’d likely register as a minor earthquake in nearby Havro. Screaming and shouting from the various personnel across the complex filled the air, worsening an already tenuous situation. Soon after the ground had calmed down, the Leiforians realized that the Gra Valkan attackers had pulled away and promptly began assessing damages.
“There are fires in Sectors 5 and 8!”
“We’ve got 12 men in critical condition!”
“There are craters and surface damage on the battery armor, but all systems are operational!”
After listening to these reports, the commanding officer of the complex was about to give orders when another report came.
“Sir! Another wave of enemy aircraft has been spotted converging on our position!”
The officer’s eyes were bloodshot and his fists were bleeding from the forceful grip of his fingers. It was hardly 7 in the morning, and he already had enough.
“Already?!”
Just then, the sirens once more blared out, sending everyone scrambling to carry out damage control and anti-aircraft duties. As the second wave of Gra Valkan aircraft descended on the superheavy battery, the Leiforians readied themselves for a long day ahead of them.
- - -
“Unbelievable.”
Looking through the periscope of his hatch, the commander of a Gra Valkan M.Fz. 466 Röcheln main battle tank let his thoughts slip out of his mouth. The loud whirring of the engine behind them and their acoustic protection made sure that the others in the tank with him didn’t hear him, which was something.
Kilometers ahead of their platoon was a deserted hamlet of over six homes nestled in a slight depression in the prairie and surrounded by farmland. What earned his shock, however, were the craters, scattered pieces of twisted, burning metal, and hastily dug trenches littered with dead soldiers on both sides of the country road that led into the hamlet. The thick, black smoke from the fires was dyed orange by the light from the rising sun as it joined tens of thousands of other plumes polluting the sky all across northeastern Leifor.
“It’s just like the towns and villages we secured along the way. Alright! Onto the dirt; we’re bypassing this one to the left–just as planned!”
As ordered by their platoon commander on the radio, the four Röchelns drove off the semi-paved country road and onto the prairie, the soil of which was wet due to a localized shower that occurred before sunrise. The tank platoon, forming an echelon formation, plowed through the wet fields while still managing to attain a comfortable 30km/h. In spite of its bulky appearance and weight of 53 tons–ridiculous for a tank that can go up to 60km/h, at least by Asheran standards–the Röcheln just refused to slouch, even on uncooperative terrain. Regardless, the uneven ground they ran on ensured the crew of a slouch-less experience.
The tank commander continued to keep watch for anomalies, his eyes shifting from left to right as he scanned treelines, ditches, and any other shadowy place for hidden unpleasantries waiting to happen. Then, from the corner of his eyes, he saw several bolts of light spreading into a cone that unraveled in their direction. Before long, the bolts dug into the ground around and close to their tanks, kicking up mud and dirt as the sounds of other bolts zooming above them reached their ears.
“Enemy fire from the direction of the hamlet!”
Upon hearing this over their platoon comms, the tank commander strained his eyes on the hamlet. It didn’t take long for him to spot the source of the bolts: a light rapidly flashing on and off from under the shade of a slight protrusion on the slope. It appeared to be a well-camouflaged machine gun bunker that the artillery strikes missed. With the static target having unraveled itself to the platoon, it was their turn to fire back.
“Anton 2! Take it out!”
Hearing his callsign being called out, he swiftly moved into action. Activating a switch, he was now able to broadcast to his crew.
“Gunner, HESH, bunker!”
Almost instantly after he gave the order, the gunner responded, his monotonous voice matching the speed at which they were acquiring their target.
“Target identified; 800.”
The turret started swinging to the right as the long 110mm L/50 rifled main gun pointed its muzzle towards the enemy bunker. The loader, meanwhile, took the high explosive squash head round from the ready rack, and with a little effort, he rammed it into the gun, the breach closing just as he yanked his right arm out of the way. He then toggled a switch that told the rest of the crew that the gun was ready to fire.
“Gun loaded!”
With the gun still on target, owing to the help of vertical and horizontal stabilizers, they were now ready to send their reply.
“Fire!”
Boom!
A single, ear-splitting boom reverberated across the Leiforian countryside as the gun on one of the Röchelns spit out a ball of burning propellant and residual smoke. Before a moment could even pass, the HESH round easily negotiated the 800m distance and detonated its nasty payload against the reinforced concrete walls of the bunker. What followed was an ostentatious display of overwhelming firepower: a bunker throwing out its burning contents in a massive blast that was achieved in mere seconds with little error.
“Phew. Nothing could have survived that.”
“Indeed. Great work.”
Giving his crew verbal pats on the shoulder, the tank commander then switched to platoon comms. After having visually scoured their surroundings for any more signs of defiance and coming up empty-handed, they declared the area free of enemy presence.
“Looks like that was all of them. Alright! Onto the next objective!”
The four tanks then continued their way circumventing the hamlet, bypassing the still-burning remnants of their defeated foes.
With their thundering engines and robust logistics apparatus, the elements of the 8th Panzer Division–part of the southern pincer against Havro–were relentless in their speedy advance across the increasingly hilly Leiforian northeast. With the Gra Valkan battering ram well in transit, there existed only a small window of time in which it could be determined whether or not the Leiforians would get their autumn awakening.
