Malmund Grasslands, Mu

General Flats assessed the topographical map laid out before him, drawn from the latest intelligence. “Orisun is our objective,” Flats began, his tone matter-of-fact. “It shall be the critical staging ground for attacks at their railroads.”

Colonel Raditz leaned over the table to examine the lines and notations. “Any words from the latest scouts? We still have little information on the terrain; our knowledge of the landscape is minimal, if not dated.”

Flats scratched his temple. “Our last reconnaissance plane fell to a missile, evidence of Muans trained in American tactics and using American equipment. The town itself was poorly fortified, but the surrounding forest remains an unknown. It can provide cover for both sides.”

“Then we proceed with our cautious advance,” Raditz predicted.

“Indeed, but we have a limited window of opportunity before reinforcements arrive at the nearby hub,” Flats said, reviewing the rest of their plan. As they ran through final reviews, Flats’ gaze swept over the faces around the table. “With that in mind, let’s talk about the magical aspect of our concerns.”

Meissner, flicking through his intelligence notes, seized the moment to speak. “Our current recon data suggests a conventional battlefield, low concentrations of mana according to madar. Artillery is already in position both to support our men against enemy mages and to respond to possible Muan counter-battery fire.”

Flats paused for a moment, taking in Meissner’s report. “That data’s days old. Are we sure it’s still reliable?”

Prepared for this concern, Meissner responded, “Our men are equipped with compact madar units, with teams of Sicarius operatives supporting them. Should they detect any mages that may have set up shop in the past few days, we have the options of shelling their positions or dispatching special forces to eliminate high-value mage targets.”

Flats nodded. “Excellent. Then, let’s get to work. We secure Orisun swiftly, then immediately prepare to take Durnsbury. This meeting is adjourned. We commence the operation in 0200 hours.”

––

Captain Vin Kessler tightened the strap of his field pack, conscious of the grenades and ammo pouches that hung from it. “All right, Ulfar Company,” he spoke to the men around him, “we roll out in five.”

Corporal Wulfhart, who operated the madar equipment, looked up. “Acknowledged, sir.”

“Hans, have your men take some flamethrowers. Probably not the best idea in a forest, but Gods know we might need it, “Kessler gestured toward the heavy weapons specialist, who tapped the side of his helmet in response.

Lieutenant Einar approached, a notepad in hand. “All units are set, sir. We’ve coordinated with artillery; they’re instructed to hold fire unless we absolutely need it or find a unit of mages. Light armor is also available for support.”

Kessler nodded.

Just then, a signalman approached, holding a wired field telephone. “Sir, a message from Colonel Raditz.”

Kessler took the receiver. The message was brief. “Ulfar, you’re clear to proceed.”

He returned the receiver, turning to his men. “We move–now,” he commanded, setting off toward the forest.

Their boots crunched on frosty ground as they navigated the forest’s dense yet barren tapestry. The mess of brown and white before them proved just as disorienting as any green thicket would have. Corporal Wulfhart continually checked his madar, screen pulsing softly as he scanned for mana signatures.

“Find anything?” Kessler murmured, eyes flicking between his map and Wulfhart, emphasizing the sense of urgency.

The corporal shook his head. “Unusually quiet, sir. Only sporadic blips far to the east, by the town itself.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Kessler murmured, gesturing for his men to continue.

After ten minutes, they reached a small clearing. Kessler signaled for a halt. They waited in silence, the forest seeming almost serene.

Lieutenant Einar moved up to Kessler. “Sir, scouts have reported. There’s no magical signature strong enough to suggest enemy mages or spell-traps directly ahead. No sign of enemy combatants, either.

Kessler looked puzzled but hid it well. “Nothing? Are we sure our madar is functioning properly?”

It’s been double-checked, sir,” Einar confirmed.

Kessler frowned. “One of our planes got shot down around here… why haven’t they set up any defenses?” he asked to himself. “Alright, let’s proceed, but stay alert. Let’s advanced in a staggered column, eyes open for anything out of the ordinary.”

The Gra Valkans resumed their cautious trek. Each soldier’s spine tingled in anticipation – this was the realm of mages and unconventional traps, and yet it lay unsettlingly quiet. Yet, the madar and their watchful eyes told a different story.

As they moved, Kessler couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. The void of magical activity ahead was unsettling, given the adversary they faced. Even the trees and sparse bushes were clear of life. He wished he could put his finger on it, but for now, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

“We’re reaching the coordinate point,” Einar whispered. Ahead, they could see a squad in the forest light, seemingly relieved at their approach.

Suddenly, deafening silence gave way to a blast. A hidden claymore erupted in a hailstorm of shrapnel, ripping through the soldiers in front.

The ground trembled momentarily before fading into an unsettling silence. Shreds of uniform floated down, blood mist mingling with the droplets and snow from the trees, forming a grisly rainfall.

Kessler’s ears buzzed, the cries and moans of his men a distant echo compared to the ringing tinnitus that pierced his hearing. His gaze swept over the gut-wrenching devastation – war’s raw brutality on full display. Soldiers once standing tall were now twisted heaps, their faces contorted in anguish or shock.

The American explosives had unleashed their fury, hurling thousands of steel balls that tore through flesh, splintered bones, and ripped organs. The men lay convulsing, lives ebbing away in spurts of crimson. The lucky ones fell silent instantly, while others gasped, reaching in vain for limbs already severed.

Kessler froze, his finger suspended over his trigger as if wrestling with an invisible force. But years of training kicked in, and he shook himself back into action. As he looked around, his eyes met Dietrich’s. Before either of them could utter a command, a volley of gunfire roared from concealed positions within the trees.

“Take cover, now!” Kessler’s voice soared over the noise. His men scrambled, instinctively finding what scant cover the rocky terrain and thin foliage offered.

With his back against a jagged boulder, Dietrich took a moment to steady his aim and search for the hidden targets laying fire upon him and his men. Straining his eyes, he struggled to find the Muan defenders, only able to fire in their general direction.

The unrelenting gunfire continued, mowing down swaths of Gra Valkan soldiers who were caught in the open or otherwise unable to recover from their initial shock. Bullets zipped past him, hitting the ground and sending dirt flying into the air. A mix of older bolt-action rifles and occasional bursts of automatic weapons filled the air as Kessler scrambled to respond.

He grabbed the field radio strapped to his side. “Jotun Battery, this is Ulfar Company. Danger close requested at grid Balder Tyr five-two-nine. Immediate suppression. We’re in a tight spot.”

The artillery officer’s voice shot back, “Acknowledged, Ulfar. Rounds incoming. Brace yourselves.”

He pivoted towards Einar, “Pull the men back towards Position Balder. Set up for cover fire in alternating platoons.”

Einar nodded, hollering orders as the Gra Valkans initiated their fighting retreat. Sections of Ulfar Company laid down suppressive fire, their rifles barking in unison while the rest retreated, making use of the trees for cover. Just then, the distant roar of Jotun Battery’s artillery punctuated the air. Kessler watched as shells whistled through the sky before landing with devastating impact in the position they had just left.

As Kessler led his men back, Einar moved to his side. “Ulfar to Einherjar Battery. Prepare a smokescreen along our withdrawal path.”

“Copy that, Ulfar. Smokescreen in 30 seconds,” came the reply.

Almost immediately, white plumes rose between the trees, creating a smoky barrier that shielded their withdrawal. Kessler sensed the timing of each volley, coordinated but not predictable, minimizing the risk of Muan counter-battery fire.

“Ulfar, this is Einherjar. Balder to Tyr corridor is smoked. Muan counter-battery fire detected. Adjusting position.”

“Copy, Einherjar. Keep us posted,” Kessler responded, gritting his teeth and tightening his grip around the radio handle. “Hans, get those flamethrowers ready. We need to buy more time.”

“Sir,” the man nodded, unleashing a river of flame that roared through the trees, creating a fiery barricade. Flames leapt from tree to tree, melting snow to slush. Plumes of dark smoke and steam spiraled into the air, violating the brown and white tapestry with something more sinister. The fiery barrier sheltered Kessler’s retreat for a moment, with the flames beginning to die out due to the lack of material to burn.

As they settled into Position Balder, another message crackled through the radio. “Ulfar, Jotun and Einherjar adjusting fire pattern to counter Muan artillery. Maintain your position.”

A fresh artillery barrage rained down past the dying fires. The ear-splitting booms were interspersed with sporadic gaps, aimed to confuse the Muans.

Kessler’s eyes darted to his watch. “Prepare for Gungnir Company’s arrival,” he told Einar, “We’ll need to link up fast.”

“Copy,” Einar acknowledged, signaling the men to make room for reinforcements.

As if on cue, Kessler heard the rumble of engines. Their arrival was accompanied by a brief introduction, “Captain Njord of Gungnir Company. What’s the situation, Ulfar?”

“Expect heavy resistance,” Kessler explained, looking past the final embers and clearing smoke. “Small arms, anti-personnel mines, machine gun nests. I wouldn’t be surprised if they also have some heavier anti-armor.”

“Copy that. We brought some Shafer light tanks and Hound medium tanks. We also have a couple of Wilders. How do you suggest we employ them?”

Kessler thought for a moment. “Use the Shafers for the initial push; Hounds can hang back and provide fire support. Keep the Wilders in reserve – we might need them as mobile artillery if things go south.”

“Got it.”

Kessler adjusted the strap of his helmet, watching as Gungnir’s recon platoon fanned out across the forest floor. The supporting Shafers proceeded with caution, sticking along the path that Kessler’s men had previously cleared. As they moved, their turrets pivoted methodically in search of threats. Finally, they reached the same clearing that they had run into before.

Up ahead, one of the Shafers suddenly halted, its main gun aiming at a mound of fallen leaves and branches. The radio buzzed, “Sir, we’ve got suspicious movement in a possible foxhole. Request permission to fire.”

Kessler focused his binoculars on the mound. It was certainly an ideal place for a machine gun nest. “Fire,” he commanded.

The Shafer’s main gun boomed, sending a high-explosive shell directly into the mound. Soil and wood shards flew into the air, followed by the muted thuds of body parts and debris hitting the ground.

“Continue your advance.”

As the Shafers moved, sporadic rifle shots and machine gun fire echoed through the forest, revealing the positions of several hidden Muan troops. Sharp blasts from the Shafers or series of detonations from artillery strikes quickly put an end to the minor skirmishes, allowing the Gra Valkans to keep pushing. Despite the handful of encounters they’ve already had with the Muans, Kessler wondered why they have yet to show any dedicated anti-armor. He hadn’t received a single report of a Shafer being engaged by an American launcher or even a Muan anti-tank gun. Was Orisun really that poorly defended?

No, it couldn’t be, he thought; after all, they had previously shown their hand by shooting down a recon plane with an American missile launcher. The formation already reflected their anticipation of enemy heavy weapons: Shafers at the front to draw out anti-armor fire, with Hounds and Wilders staggered farther back in defilade positions, concealed by the natural terrain. Though they were already prepared to engage enemy anti-tank positions, the silence was still unsettling.

His worries were finally realized he felt rather than heard the strange explosion that erupted from the forest – a blast punctuated by a sharp, ear-splitting crack unlike anything in his combat experience. Before he could make sense of it, a metallic thud resounded through the lead Shafer. It was quick, almost like a hammer’s blow, yet magnified a hundredfold. Unlike traditional rounds that impacted in explosive fashion and sent jarring shockwaves through the vehicle, this one seemed to punch right through as though the armor were mere foil. A moment later, the sun was visible through a clean hole in the vehicle – front to back, as if the tank had been skewered.

There were no flames, no explosion – only a molten-edged hole and a chilling realization. A lone survivor climbed out the hatch above, somehow unscathed compared to his fallen comrades, who were reduced to heads missing torsos and bloody mist.

Inside, the destruction was a master class in cold efficiency. Spall had sliced through equipment, ricocheting violently within the confined space. Seats were upended, gauges shattered. The exit wound on the tank’s rear sprayed fragments of metal like a shotgun, puncturing another vehicle in its path and eviscerating a group of infantry attempting to shield themselves from surrounding machine gun fire.

“Anti-tank gun! Get me Gungnir on the horn – deploy Wilder units to suppress!” Kessler’s voice cut through the radio static. “Jotun Battery, fire fore effect on enemy AT positions. Coordinates: Edda-Grim-Fjor!”

Gungnir’s heavy Wilder tanks, each a hulking beast of metal and firepower, rumbled into position. Their 88mm main guns – purpose-built for scenarios just like this – rotated with mechanical precision, aiming toward the unsuspected origin of that unfamiliar, piercing anti-tank fire. At their current position, they were unlikely to suffer the same fate as the Shafers; the Muans had too little time to detect them and readjust their aim. The Wilder’s cannons belched fire, and the ground in the enemy’s vicinity erupted as if stirred by the hand of some wrathful deity.

Kessler risked a glance over his shoulder. The Hound medium tanks had moved up, positioning themselves as a living wall between the incapacitated enemy and the now-dismounted infantry. This was textbook, just as they’d trained: Shafers to lure, Wilders and Hounds to crush.

“Push! Push! Clear those damn positions! Don’t give them a second to breathe!” Kessler yelled, voice tinged with urgency.

Pressing the advantage, the Gra Valkan forces pushed forth, ready to enact the very blitzkrieg that had earned them half of Yggdra.