The shell had hit so close that Captain Meybert inadvertently cried out and covered his head. Once he peeked over, his eyes came to rest on a derelict hunk of metal. It was the remains of what had been one of their tanks up until a moment ago. At least the personnel inside had escaped in time.
For tankers, though, this was an almost unmitigated disaster. As a commander, Captain Meybert could only lament seeing yet another of their armored vehicles destroyed.
“Suppress that AT gun!”
“It’s no good! There are enemy mages! Enemy mages are taking the field!”
“They’ve got mages, too?! Mages with AT guns?! Airborne, my ass!”
They had expected lightly equipped paratroopers, but the enemy was wielding far more firepower than they had dreamed of. The fact that the Federation had captured an armor-piercing AT gun had already given Meybert a major headache, but now they had to deal with intermittent explosion formulas from mages flying overhead as well.
Besides, why was he sitting here getting outgunned by mages in the first place? As an artillery gunner, this situation was about to drive him mad. If only he had some heavy artillery and shells, none of this would be happening, at least not at this range. But the best he had on hand at the moment were some rifles and whatever field guns they’d managed to drag into position. Worst of all, they didn’t have many shells. What they needed now was more ammo—enough to fire as much as they needed.
Why were there never enough shells on hand?
“And now that command has let their stockpile get swiped from under their noses, we can’t even go down shooting. This is embarrassing…”
A relief unit getting shot down with ammunition stolen from the very army they had come to save. Of course, Captain Meybert thought, finally understanding how something like this felt. He had fired on enemies with captured ammo many times in the past. It must have been infuriating for the enemy. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, it was easy to see why. He also understood how thrilling it must feel for the other side. They were probably chomping at the bit right now.
“Well, this is not a good turn of events,” Captain Meybert muttered, careful that his men would not hear.
He tried to make sense of the situation in his head. Although the enemy should have been the ones in hot water—having dropped into enemy territory—their morale was high, while Meybert’s side felt as low as could be.
Under normal circumstances, they could have just waited for support forces to get into place so that the enemy would be at a disadvantage again…but with things as they were, would command even last that long?
Captain Meybert began making calculations in his head. The enemy troops were highly active and motivated, while his own command was weakening by the day. Even by his conservative reckoning, the situation was worse than it appeared.
The artillery officer sighed in disgust, muttering about how he was always forced into battle with too little of everything. Why couldn’t the Imperial Army be the ones with supplies for a change?
He needed shells.
He needed men.
Why was there never enough of anything?
What had command’s maintenance unit been up to all this time? And more importantly, where were all these strategic reserves they supposedly had on hand?
“Those fools at command! Always trying to pump reserve troops into backup squads. And where are they when they’re needed most?! If they can take the men out, why the hell can’t they put them back in?!”
Captain Meybert was not done cursing this damnable situation as he lived and breathed. When the going gets tough, a filthy mouth is the sign of someone who hasn’t given up. In other words, it’s a sign of humanity.
It looked like things were about to get bad. Feeling the change in his gut, Captain Meybert lit the rationed cigarette clutched between his teeth. Puffing on the tobacco helped him regain his cool. The enemy’s airborne infantry, he knew, were well trained—better trained than the enemy command he had once traded casualties with while defending that harbor.
“What am I doing in a situation like this? I’m supposed to be artillery…”
Captain Meybert wished Captain Ahrens would hurry up and arrive with those tanks. He wished it more than anything at that moment—perhaps even more than he wished for Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff’s mages to show up.
“If only they were here now,” he muttered softly.
But that sort of talk was forbidden for a commander on the ground. You can’t solve anything by wishing for what you can’t have. Still…how wonderful a few friendly mages might be right now. Even officers like Meybert found it hard not to wish for expedients.
Captain Meybert groaned, snapping out of his reverie as the sound of a telephone cut through the tension. It was a radio call from the forward positions, where they were under constant attack and on the verge of collapse. He picked up the phone, knowing the news couldn’t be good.
“Captain Meybert, we’re already at our limit! At this rate…!”
“First Lieutenant Tospan! I can’t give you permission to withdraw. I’m sorry, but it’s not possible.”
“We’ll do what we can. But goddamnit, if something doesn’t change soon…”
Captain Tospan didn’t need to finish his sentence. The situation was obvious, and Captain Meybert had already grasped it. There were no illusions left now. It was time to prepare for the worst. Under these circumstances, every last man needed to be put to use.
“I’m sending in reinforcements. I’ll meet you there!”
“What? What do you…”
“Every last soldier. That’s all.”
Abruptly, Captain Meybert ended the call and put his helmet back on. The Kampfgruppe was long past the point of sending in the reserves; he would have to squeeze what he could from other places instead. It was a simple calculation.
Every army has what is called a chain of command. The people who usually said, “Do this,” or “Go there.” But those people were still soldiers, just like everyone else, and they could be counted among the troops.
Of course, common sense dictates that rather than let the head of one’s force be crushed, it’s better to have commanding officers sit toward the back, protected by guards. But on the battlefield, expecting everything to proceed according to common sense is naive.
Which meant…
“The command section is joining the battle line!” he ordered briefly.
The Salamander Kampfgruppe’s temporary command staff did not need further explanation. After all, their usual commander, Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, often directly participated in battles while commanding from the front.
“Is there anyone in this unit who isn’t a glutton for war?”
He was sending Kampfgruppe command, along with its guards, straight to the forward line of contact. Something like that would get you flunked out of military academy on the spot. But with their forces as depleted as they were, that was the best call in this situation.
It wasn’t long before Captain Meybert, too, had joined the infantry at First Lieutenant Tospan’s side.
On the forward line, they were close enough to reach out and punch the enemy. It was hand-to-hand combat in the strictest sense, using any and all weapons available to beat the enemy in a primitive manner. The situation had progressed to close combat.
It was a fracas. They held out with sheer firepower and grit as the enemy cut into their ranks, even swinging bayonets and knives. The members of the Salamander Kampfgruppe, who had supposedly come to bail out Eastern Army Command, found themselves on the defensive instead. Every last soldier was in the same boat, no exceptions.
Even Captain Meybert, who had been directing the troops, suddenly appeared on the scene with a command map in hand.
What was that? Captain Meybert peered closer. An enemy soldier, out ahead of the pack?
Before Meybert knew it, the airborne Federation soldier was right on top of him, brandishing a knife and charging forward to skewer him.
“Damn it!”