“My Lords, we have received an updated intel report.”

The same officer from last time cautiously entered the area in which Raziel and Elizabeth were seated. They were not playing Poker this time but were engaged in some other form of enjoyment, not that it mattered, anyway.

“B7.”

“Miss. D6.”

“Miss. F4.”

“….”

“F. 4.”

“… hit…”

“And that’s a wrap.”

The officer approached with apprehension.

“My Lords. There is updated intel on the situation.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Elizabeth grumbled, putting the game that she and her brother had been playing away. “We heard you the first time. Now, what exactly is this big info dump you’ve got for us?”

Raziel shook his head at his sister’s casual speech.

“Lizzy, you know mother will be quite angry with us if we don’t act properly. Do you remember the last time? You know, right after we reduced that crudely named city to rubble, dust, flames, and ruin?”

Elizabeth held the bridge of her nose between two of her fingers as she ground her teeth.

“Yes, yes. Fine…” she grumbled under her breath but loud enough for both her brother and the officer to hear it. “So,” she said, changing her tone and mannerisms so quickly that you would be concerned that some split personality or other will had assumed direct control over her body, “what is the new information that we have received? I certainly hope it is nothing too pointless, as we do have a war to win and too much useless intel will only hold us back.”

The officer straightened up and began to deliver the details of the new ‘news’ from the front. With each sentence that came from the officer’s mouth, the faces of the twins grew grimmer and grimmer. It had been their orders that had resulted in the mess that was sure to come, as they had been the ones to order the invading army to split up and attempt to cover more ground. They had tried to play this war as though it were a strategy game from a certain company back on Earth, and now they were getting fucked over by exactly the kind of thing that would happen to an overconfident player in that very said game. This potential disaster called for immediate action, and as soon as the briefing was finished, the twins got to work.

All of the scattered forces were ordered to meet up together and, if that was not possible, to entrench themselves and prepare for a potentially fatal battle. The intel shared among the leaders of each force was enough of an incentive for them to pick up the pace and try and escape the doom that was going to soon be hot o their heels, but they knew that if they could make it t their intended destination quickly enough that they would be able to avoid total destruction. As this went down on the ground, the fifty or so airborne warships began to move independently from each other, each going to try and aid a detachment as aerial fire-support in the event that they found themselves in danger.

It was a race, both against time and against the Arbianans who were just about to cross the Tyrkish Straight, and of course, it would not be the novel ‘Abominable King’ if there were no complications, either for the Arbianans or their quarry.

…

“Come on, gents, pick up the pace! I know you’re not used to marching this much on this kind of ground, but we’re trying to outrun our own doom, here!” barked a Sergeant as the column of mortal soldiers led the undead through the landscape.

“Sarge, with all due respect, couldn’t we just have the Dungeon Master open an Entrance or something?”

The other soldiers and even the necromancers thought that what the soldier had said in response held a lot of water, but the Sergeant nearby had his own views on such things.

“Quiet! You should know as well as anyone else that those things can be swords that cut both ways if fate decrees it! Do you want those fanatics using the Network to strike behind our lines, hm? How exactly would you respond to your family after those zealots use the Network to pop up inside your hometown and raze it to ash?”

The Sergeant’s words were correct. If the Dungeon Master opened an Entrance here for them to use, it could, at least theoretically, allow the Sultanate to exploit the massive transportation network and essentially strike almost anywhere in the Empire with minimal effort. Even walls would not necessarily be enough to stop them, as there were some places where the Entrances existed behind the very fortifications meant to keep foes out.

“To be honest, Sarge, my family is a bunch of toxic human septic waste, so if they lost everything I would be suffering not from anger, guilt or sadness, but from ‘schadenfreude’, as the Teutonians call it.”

“That is… Well, you wouldn’t want the others in your hometown to suffer, right?”

The soldier who was spoken to gave a look in response that told the Sergeant and those who could see it all they needed to know.

“Well, then… I can see why you decided to join the Mortal Auxiliary, then…”

The soldier laughed in response and replied in semi-good cheer.

“Damn straight, sir. My entire town thought that joining the military was a surefire death sentence. They thought I wouldn’t be anything of note in my life, go anywhere, do anything, etc… But here I am, on the front lines of a war that they couldn’t possibly hope to deal with themselves, fighting for the very nation that gave them the ability to even think of living as they do. I’ve already got things planned out for when this tour is over, you know? Been saving every paycheck and I already have enough to afford to take a trip back after all of this to rub it in their faces that I am not a nobody anymore!”

A necromancer slowed his pace a bit to walk alongside the soldier and patted him o the back.

“Careful, my man. We both know that talking too much about what you intend to do after a war is a surefire way to get killed or maimed.”

“Nonsense!” shouted the Sergeant. “I’ve seen more than three-fourths of every group I’ve ever commanded speak ‘too much’ about their plans after a conflict, big or small, and more than 97% of them survived without death or without horrific injuries that were not treated and repaired almost immediately afterward. That ‘flag’ stuff is bullshit, now pick up the pace. Am I working with soldiers and commanders or with people made of near-frozen molasses?!”

And so, they marched ever onwards, and as they linked up with two other groups, they were completely unaware of the danger they were about to be in. They were skirting the coast, as it was the fastest path they could take, but they were about to take refuge in a place that would become the ‘Battle of Bastogne’ for the Imperial forces in this stage of the war.