January 17, 1641

Durnsbury, Mu

“Everything set?” Einar asked, peering into the truck’s shadowed interior. Clad in Muan uniforms, his team sat among crates of the explosives they had found.

“All in order, sir,” Sergeant Kriegstahl replied. His voice was steady, the slight clatter of munitions accompanying his final checks.

Einar nodded. “Check your watches; ensure they’re synchronized. The bombs need to go off at 0900 hours.”

After receiving confirmation, Einar pulled out a set of aerial photographs. “Good. We’ve got new intel from our scouts. The active bombs are stashed in the main freight terminal, specifically in the loading docks and along the critical junction points of the rail lines. The docks are our primary focus. They’ve rigged explosives in the cargo areas, likely where the most impact will be.”

Einar paused, swapping to another photo. “We don’t have any visual confirmation, but these rail lines are secondary targets. The engineers think that explosives placed under the eastern and western overpasses could cause the most damage. We’ll need to disarm likely bombs there to prevent the entire line from going up.”

“Sounds like we’ll need to split up,” Kriegstahl commented.

Einar then pulled out a photograph of the entire railway station and its surroundings, spreading it on a box of explosives. “Affirmative. Once we’re in the base, Kriegstahl and Freistrom will head to the docks. Thundervald, you’re with me on the western overpass. Wulfsten and Brunnhald, you’ll take the eastern overpass. We move in three teams. Maximum discretion until the bombs go off. That’s your window to act. Regroup at the main lobby when you’re done.”

The team nodded, prepared to act. Satisfied with the review, Einar stepped out of the back of the truck and made his way over to the driver’s seat. He took one last look at the shattered office building behind him, the shadows of its form stretching toward him. With a sigh, he eased out of the garage, merging into the empty early morning roads. The ambiance of distant artillery felt almost calming to him, as if reminding him of the raw experience and power that backed him, his men, and Kessler’s forces.

As they neared the railroad station, the first hints of dawn began to touch the sky. Einar’s gaze hardened. “Stay sharp,” he murmured, more to himself than to Thundervald. The checkpoint was up ahead, manned by Muan guards whose silhouettes were barely discernible in the low light.

Einar slowed the truck as they approached, rolling to a stop before a Muan guard. “Mornin’,” he greeted. “Delivery for the docks, delayed by the skirmish at Jardin Park. Had to circle wide to avoid the Gra Valkan mess.”

The guard looked up from his notes. “Supposed to be here yesterday, this was. What’s the cargo?”

“Bombs,” Einar replied promptly, a hint of urgency in his voice. “For the railroad. Couldn’t risk the Valkies catching wind of this.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody Valkies, the lot of ‘em. Causing more trouble than they’re worth,” he muttered, then walked toward the back of the truck.

Einar kept track of him through the mirror on his left, heart pounding as the guard stayed for seconds longer than he had expected.

The guard’s expression softened. The sight of the crates seemed to ease his doubts. Finally, the guard turned around and began walking toward the driver’s seat. “Alright, move along. Make it quick. Don’t want this lot sitting around.”

“Understood,” Einar said, a tight smile on his lips as he eased the truck forward. The guard stepped back, allowing them to pass.

Once clear of the checkpoint, Einar’s expression returned to its usual focused calm. The truck wove through the confined paths within the base, the railroad station looming ahead. Einar parked in a lot, sliding between stacks of supplies and ordnance. “Time to split up,” he murmured, glancing at his watch. “Remember, 0900 hours. Be ready.”

Einar stepped out of the driver’s seat, his hand reaching for a nearby toolbox as a guise for their real mission. Thundervald followed, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. The early morning bustle of the station and defense preparations provided a chaotic backdrop, helping them blend in.

As they approached the western overpass, Einar searched for the explosives. If the first shipment contained the same materials, then he should be looking for something consisting of simple mechanical triggers and dynamite. He stopped by a bench, setting his toolbox down to both scan its contents for anything possibly useful and scan his surroundings without seeming like some sort of spy. It wasn’t long before his eye caught sight of a Muan team positioned on the tracks, near the base of the western overpass.

He nudged Thundervald, gesturing subtly towards the Muans. Thundervald gave a nod, understanding the unspoken order. They looked around, finding not a single soul. No witnesses – perfect. Thundervald quietly unholstered his knife. Einar followed suit, both men creeping up on the soldiers at the tracks.

Einar reached the first man, covering his mouth with his hand as he jabbed the knife into the soldier’s neck. He twisted the blade, blood gushing forth from the ugly wound. The soldier struggled for mere seconds before going limp from Einar’s efficient wetwork. He looked to his right, seeing Thundervald wipe his blade on his victim’s shirt.

With the immediate threat neutralized, they dragged the bodies away from the rails, hiding them behind a tarp. Einar returned to the tracks, crouching beside the first bundle of explosives. The setup was rudimentary: a series of fuses twisted together, each leading to a cluster of dynamite. With a steadying breath, he reached into the toolbox and pulled out a pair of wire cutters.

The fuse wire was old, its coating frayed and brittle. Einar held it between his fingers, feeling the coarse texture. He positioned the cutters carefully, ensuring he was cutting the right section to prevent ignition. With a precise snip, he severed the connection, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

Thundervald, keeping watch, whispered, “Next one.”

Einar moved to the second set of explosives. This one was slightly more complex, the fuses interwoven to create a redundant system. He traced the path of each fuse, identifying the critical junction where they converged. Here, a single cut could disarm multiple connections. He adjusted his grip on the cutters. Another clean cut, and the threat was diminished.

They proceeded to the last bundle. It looked like a mess. The dynamite was packed tightly, the fuses wrapped around them haphazardly. Thankfully, this was not a bomb he had to defuse; it hadn’t been armed. Without disturbing the sticks, he carefully moved the inert mass and dumped it next to the bodies.

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“Done,” Einar said, placing his hand on Thundervald’s shoulder. “Let’s head to the main lobby.”

Reaching the main lobby, they spotted Wulfsten and Brunnhald waiting near a wall, their postures rigid with tension. Einar approached them swiftly. “Report.”

“Eastern overpass cleared,” Wulfsten replied. “Got lucky and found the charges right away. They’re disarmed now.”

“And no sightings of Kriegstahl’s team?” Einar asked, brow furrowing with concern.

“Negative, sir,” Brunnhald interjected. “They should be here by now.”

Einar’s hand instinctively went to his side to reach for his radio, but he stopped, remembering that they didn’t carry any radios with them for this mission. He cursed at the misfortune of this situation, but such was the way of war – anything that can go wrong, will. He glanced at his watch; it wouldn’t be long before the explosives in their truck detonated and signaled the start of the main assault. “We can’t wait. Thundervald, take point towards the docks. Wulfsten, Brunnhald, flank. Move out.”

The men nodded and began making their way to the loading docks. They walked at a brisk pace, keeping their hands near their pockets while trying not to draw any attention to themselves. As they neared, the distant but unmistakable sound of suppressed gunshots momentarily halted their advance. The shots were muffled, sporadic – a sign of a desperate struggle.

Einar signaled a halt, his eyes narrowing. “Thundervald, recon.” He looked to Wulfsten and Brunnhald. “Cover him.”

Thundervald moved forward as he approached the source of the gunfire. Einar watched intently, his hand resting on his own sidearm. Suddenly, the suppressed gunfire intermingled with the louder, more distinct reports of unsuppressed weapons. Some were sharp cracks, reminiscent of bolt-action rifles while others were fluid bursts – American weapons. Einar’s heart raced, the change in sound a clear indication that the situation had escalated.

“Move in, now!” Einar commanded, breaking into a brisk jog towards the docks, his team close behind and their weapons out. The sounds of a firefight grew clearer as they ran, the staccato of gunfire echoing off the station walls.

They rounded a corner and came into view of the loading docks, where the chaos of an unfolding battle greeted them. Muan soldiers were engaged in a firefight, backs turned to them and rifles aiming somewhere deeper into the structure. Einar gestured sharply, directing his team to fan out, using the crates and equipment for cover.

With his team’s eyes on him, Einar gestured towards the Muans, indicating the need for visual confirmation of each target. He crouched slightly behind a box, raising his rifle and aiming at the Muans on the left. He locked eyes with Thundervald, giving a subtle nod before returning to his target and pulling the trigger.

The Muans, completely unaware of the threat behind them, had no time to react. Caught between their engagement ahead and the sudden assault from behind, they fell quickly and easily. The gunfire ceased as quickly as it had begun. Einar motioned for his team to advance. They stepped cautiously, confirming their kills.

While Wulfsten and Brunnhald secured the perimeter, Einar and Thundervald investigated the source of the previous conflict. Behind a hastily erected barricade of crates and supplies, they found Kriegstahl and Freistrom. Einar’s eyes immediately took in the grim scene. Kriegstahl lay slumped against the wall, his uniform soaked in. His breaths were ragged and labored, sounding more like wheezing. Beside him, Freistrom lay motionless, a pool of blood beneath him and eyes staring emptily into the ceiling.

“Kriegstahl!” Einar rushed up to him and knelt beside him.

Kriegstahl’s gaze flickered, focusing with effort. He looked toward a pair of crates off to the side, toward the tracks. “Captain…” he winced in pain, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Bombs… still in crates… We tried to…”

Kriegstahl’s words trailed off, each breath a visible struggle. His body had multiple wounds across his torso and arms. While nothing seemed to have pierced any major organs, the stained uniform and bloody ground snuffed out the fires of hope. He had lost too much blood. If they had a field hospital nearby with the ability to transfuse, he’d have a fighting chance. But reinforcements were more than an hour out. The stark truth was laid bare before him – Kriegstahl was beyond saving. The realization settled in Einar’s chest, a heavy, cold weight. There was no time for the sorrow that threatened to surface, not yet.

Einar placed a firm hand on Kriegstahl’s shoulder, a gesture of both comfort and farewell. “Save your strength,” he said with a steady tone. “We’ll handle the bombs. You did well.”

Kriegstahl’s eyes, clouded with pain, held Einar’s for a moment longer. Then, his gaze faded, his head falling to one side as the last vestiges of life left him.

Einar closed Kriegstahl’s eyes with a solemn, respectful gesture. He then moved toward Freistrom. After briefly paying his respects, he stood. There would be time for grief later; now, they had a mission to complete.

He turned towards the crates. “Thundervald, Wulfsten, Brunnhald,” he ordered, “cover me while I disarm the bombs.”

Einar began the methodical process of disarming the bombs. The first one was relatively simple enough to defuse, shoddily set up like the one at the overpass. As he snapped the connection, the silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of suppressed gunfire coming from Thundervald. A new wave of Muan soldiers had descended upon them and gunfire erupted once more.

He flinched as a bullet whizzed past his right before piercing through a crate. It was a close shave and the danger was omnipresent, but he trusted his men to stem the tide. Steadying his hands, he took a deep breath and defused the next bomb with unyielding concentration.

Amidst the chaos of bullets and shouts, the station shuddered as a distant explosion reverberated through the walls – the truck’s explosion. It was now 0900 hours, which meant the main assault was now underway. Reinforcements wouldn’t be too far away now.

As Einar disarmed the final bomb, he looked up see Wulfsten and Brunnhald wounded, their situation growing increasingly desperate. They were outnumbered, the Muans pressing in.

“Bombs defused!” Einar announced, grabbing his rifle. He wanted to retreat into the station, but that wasn’t an option – he couldn’t risk the Muans attempting to sabotage the train station again. “Hold your positions!”

He positioned himself behind a stack of crates, heart racing as he suppressed a squad of soldiers stacking behind a wall. Meanwhile, Thundervald tossed a grenade at the same squad he was suppressing. He watched as the grenade rolled past the wall before detonating. Though he could not see past the wall, the cries of the enemy soldiers confirmed the grenade’s effectiveness.

Einar paused to reload, arm aching as he did so. For every Muan soldier they took down, it seemed two more took their place. He was aware of the dwindling ammunition, the growing fatigue of his team, and the seemingly endless wave of enemies. It was a last stand, but one with a way out. They just had to last a bit longer.

Just as their situation reached its tipping point, an explosion rocked the wall near one of the loading docks. Debris flew, a cloud of dust and smoke billowing into the air. Einar shielded his face, coughing, his ears ringing from the blast.

Through the settling dust, silhouettes emerged. They came in guns blazing, firing at the disoriented Muan soldiers. “Hold positions,” he ordered his team. “Weapons down, stay put.”

They complied immediately, lowering their weapons and remaining stationary to avoid any sudden movements that might be misinterpreted as hostile.

Einar watched the approaching figures with keen eyes. As they drew closer, he called out clearly. “Frost!”

The lead soldier promptly responded, “Fjord!”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Einar said. “I’m Lieutenant Einar from the infiltration team.”

With the successful identification, he signaled his unit to lower their weapons. “Corporal Wulfhart, Ulfar Company,” the man said. “Your status?”

“Bombs disarmed. I’ve got 2 killed in action and 2 injured,” Einar quickly briefed.

“Understood. Sit tight, we’ll get some medics,” Wulfhart assured.

Einar sighed, relaxing now that he was finally in safe hands. He turned his head, glancing back at the bodies of Kriegstahl and Freistrom, allowing his heavy heart some release as tears streamed down his cheeks.