The Federal Republic of Giad’s combat areas were located in the northwest of the continent. During the dark days of winter, it wasn’t spared from the Legion’s tyrannical grasp. And yet the cold soil under the curtain of powder snow was harder than metal, making the four northern front lines relatively preferable. By contrast, the southern and western fronts were brutal. The snow that fell during night melted due to sunlight and the atmospheric temperature. The resulting water seeped into the land and turned the whole area into a quagmire.
It wasn’t a sea of mud thick enough to impede the Löwe and Dinosauria, but it did slow down towed howitzers and supply trucks, and it tripped up the armored infantry. Any trenches they dug were full at the bottom with freezing muddy water, sapping away the soldiers’ body heat, stamina, and morale.
And this was doubly true of the poor infantry soldiers who had to sit there, exposed to the cold in their metal-black combat uniforms and snow camouflage overcoats.
The steel army walked across the trenches. The final soldier who’d stayed behind to fight somehow managed to crawl out of the trench, only to trip over his numb, freezing legs and fall over. Before he could cry for help, a Löwe’s stake-like leg crushed him. Its revolving machine guns roared, firing sweeping barrages at the fleeing soldiers. A moment later, 155 mm explosive shells rained down and exploded above the suppressed trenches, unleashing a shower of self-forging fragments over the murder machines. This was the final artillery support the soldiers who just died had ordered.
“Now! Charge! Take it back!”
Such barrages were fired over several spots in the trenches, positioned to strike the advancing Legion from three directions. Infantry charged out from surrounding trenches, kicking up snow as they rushed, diving into empty trenches under the covering fire of their allies. They shot at Legion that survived the bombardment, aiming from close range with their rifles or otherwise using what precious few 88 mm anti-tank guns they had. The trenches they slid into were covered in equal parts slush and the blood and remains of their allies.
The Federacy’s unique trenches, which were perpendicularly bent to soften shock waves, and the steel and concrete anti-tank barriers were all worn out and crumbling from days of nonstop fighting. Their allied armored unit was pulled back to the rear, relegated to mobile defense, and wasn’t there to help them.
“There are no Vánagandrs to help us, and the artillery units have their hands full supporting everyone. So we’re the only ones who can protect this place!”
✦ ✦ ✦
Stopping for a smoke became a habit of hers ever since the second large-scale offensive. She blew out a puff of violet smoke into the cold, snow-specked air. The artillery commander’s daughter, with her long black hair and black-rimmed glasses, looked over her battlefield covered in snow and mud.
Artillery units fought their battles by firing high-firepower ordnance, deployed dozens of kilometers behind the front lines. Things weren’t as hectic as they were on the trenches built right before enemy lines, but so long as fighting continued on the front lines, requests for artillery support came in nonstop.
And so in what scant moments of pause they found between one battle and another, her subordinates had time to eat their proper meal for the day—combat rations consisting of a main dish of a meat pack, with biscuits they could dip and crumble into the sauce. In the meanwhile, she took her cigarette and got her share of caffeine from a cup of coffee substitute.
“Looks like everything’s abuzz on your end, artillery girl.”
She glanced back, catching sight of a familiar young man—the commander of the armored division. The armored division, too, was called in to intercept the enemy wherever the infantry’s trenches were being broken through, leaving them with little time to rest, but they seemed to have found some time to return for supplies and maintenance. Armored weapons were extremely heavy, which strained their engines, requiring maintenance equal to their operation time.
He had a cigarette between his teeth, and a noncommissioned officer walked over and lit it for him. His tanker jacket was faded from overuse, and fatigue was clearly visible on his soot-covered face. Behind him was his eight-legged mechanical mount, encased in mud up to its underbelly.
“Right back at you, armored kid. Doesn’t look like the scraps’ offensive is dying down anytime soon.”
“Sadly. This one’s gonna last awhile.”
He curled up the corners of his lips, a cigarette in his mouth and his eyes mirthless. The long battle was exhausting him, but there was no end in sight nor was the situation tipping in their favor. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if he didn’t at least force a smile.
“I wasn’t keeping count, so this is just me eyeballing it, but…I have this feeling the Legion’s numbers have only increased since this offensive’s started.”
The artillery commander’s daughter frowned. “I guess the Legion that used to be Eighty-Six finished their massacre in the Republic.”
“And they’ve changed their methods on top of that. This isn’t them just throwing big numbers at us to pressure our front down. They’re watching how we fight back and luring out the less organized units, sending in their main force there to break through them. That’s how they’ve overrun sectors with a lot of reservists multiple times already.”
To make up for the massive casualties they suffered in the first large-scale offensive, the Federacy military had to rely on reservists and cut down on their training time. Soldiers with insufficient education and training were also less disciplined and organized. They couldn’t compare with veteran soldiers who spent the last decade surviving the Legion War.
They made small but significant errors in judgment and were easily rattled or perhaps simply unlucky. The new soldiers fell apart in situations where experienced soldiers were able to hold on.
“And to take back that lost footing, veteran units have to throw themselves into danger and lose troops. The flights to heaven have been awfully crowded since last year’s large-scale offensive. Too many to send back, too. Those who don’t make it in time end up packed together and frozen.”