In the end, the heavily armored, combined arms counterattack initiated by Captain Meybert completely sideswiped the large, brigade-sized airborne assault of the Federation troops, a flanking blow delivered by armored forces against light infantry whose ultimate weapon was a captured AT gun.
It didn’t take long for the scales to tip heavily in the Empire’s favor.
And yet, even that was not enough for the airborne Federation unit to throw in the towel. They continued their attempt to surge forward, capture the command center, and eliminate reinforcements with unparalleled grit, determination, and hope.
All they needed was to push a little farther, to just gain a toehold.
In the end, however, the scales of power never tipped back in the attackers’ favor. Their hope that inspired them to fight so hard was the promise of a second wave. If only those reinforcements had shown up!
The promised troops—an armored unit that was supposed to charge to their aid—did not appear, even after the appointed time had come and gone. Then came a terrified report that they were being “hit by a powerful aerial mage division,” and contact with the unit was lost altogether. The loss of hope broke these courageous soldiers and their staying power quickly evaporated. As they disengaged in twos and threes, some even choosing to surrender, their faces ceased to reflect the determination of heroes bent on conquering the enemy’s headquarters. They had long since become mere humans again, desperate to survive.
Meanwhile, the defending Imperial Eastern Army Command that had been previously forced to imbibe the libations of despair now greedily indulged in the exquisite vintage of hope, from the highest-ranking officers to the lowest enlisted privates.
They had survived. They had sawed their way through the enemy attack.
Once reality set in, they finally found the strength to spare a thought for matters that had been pushed aside. Even worry felt like a luxury now that they were alive.
But luxury or not, what had that strange order been about? Lieutenant General Hasenclever had asked as confusion set in, only for command to be suddenly hit with an airborne assault.
Once the attack had been successfully repelled, he was helping himself to some combat rations with mud-stained hands and his rifle slung over his shoulder. Whether the bombshell telegram he received during the meal, addressed to Eastern Army Command, should be considered a luxury simply because he had survived was a question best left to rhetoricians.
To be blunt, today was not Lieutenant General Hasenclever’s lucky day.
“This came from the General Staff. It says it’s from General Zettour. The encryption was legitimate.”
Finally, Lieutenant General Hasenclever took the telegram with relief. A moment later, however, he clutched his stomach and shouted, “Impossible!”
“You mean to tell me that previous communication was correct?!”
That was an unexpected development, to say the least.
“Wait, those orders were genuine?” The staff officers did not bother hiding their unease as their eyes drifted to the scrap of paper in the lieutenant general’s hand. He was gripping it so firmly it looked as if he might tear it to pieces.
An authentic telegram, sent from the Empire by General Zettour. A message that should have resolved this chaos immediately. That was what the staff officers had expected.
However, what they were confronted with was the slowly petrifying face of the lieutenant general. He hadn’t looked this grave even upon receiving reports of the Federation Army’s airborne strike.
Unable to bear the suspense, one of the staff officers took the telegram from the commander’s hand. Only after he also froze like a statue, did the attachés finally lay eyes on it. They froze as well.
It was, indeed, a telegram from the the General Staff. The General Staff was throwing their weight around again, so to speak. It was what the General Staff did best.
General Hans von Zettour’s response to eastern army’s previous inquiry about Plan No. 4 was exceedingly clear:
“Promptly carry out previous orders!”
That was all.
Of course, they understood what had been left unsaid.
Total and immediate execution of Defensive Plan No. 4—a plan they had been holding at arm’s length and had only just halfheartedly begun to implement—and the continuation of the aerial mage operations. Was there any room for misinterpretation?! The telegram was firm, explicit, and angry!
No one in the entire army could have failed to pick up on that. Promptly carry out previous orders. In response to such a direct order coming all the way from the top, there was only one thing to do. A reminder like that was nothing to laugh at—a career-ending message for any elite staff officer who questioned it.
“In other words…it was our inquiries that were causing the confusion?”
“Do you think it seemed like we were repeatedly questioning authentic orders?”
“But the General Staff was in disarray as well! That’s where the whole mix-up started…”
“Since when are orders delivered in that manner?”
“Everyone, enough!” shouted Lieutenant General Hasenclever, slicing through the turmoil in the room.
His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembled, but he focused on what needed to be done next.
“We have orders. Orders! We need to make up for lost time!”
“But…they were so strange!”
Lieutenant General Hasenclever was a good company man, and he was about to show, by example, what he was made of.
“We have an order! And it is authentic!”
Lieutenant General Hasenclever had only been left in charge in General Laudon’s absence. He was far too passive for the now-deceased General Laudon to have considered him a replacement, but he was still a classic imperial military man.
In other words, a strictly trained career soldier who would not hesitate to follow orders.
“Implement the order! We must make up for lost time!”