Counterattack, Part 2
(War - LOK)
Tingvalla
Clara pressed up against the wall of a building and steadied her breathing. She focused her ears on listening to the approaching engine noises. She grabbed her walkie-talkie. “Look alive, everyone. Kreuzies closing in.”
She looked across the Klarälven River, watching as shapes zipped between buildings on the other side. Those were the first Crusaders driving eastbound on the abandoned Highway E18 into downtown Tingvalla. Just as she had expected, they had taken the Sigurd Street southbound exit. Following the road south, they would reach the Sigurd Bridge, which crossed Klarälven River into the city center. The city center itself was an island in the middle of the river delta, only accessible by bridges from other islands or the mainland.
“Have the evacuations of the outer neighborhoods finished?” she asked.
“Yes,” Joey said, “There should be no civilians remaining outside the city center.”
“Wait for the signal.” From her location, she could see two bridges to her left, a cycling bridge and a railroad bridge. Crusaders were now making their way across on foot, while the main force of APCs embarked on Sigurd Bridge in front of her. The loud clanking of treads drew her eyes to a tank rolling amidst the troop transports, flanked by several Hellhounds. It was a lot, compared to what Tingvalla could field, but they had practiced this scenario for days. To her relief, she noticed the enemy force was lacking many things that would’ve derailed her plan.
They didn’t bother sending any aircraft or amphibious vehicles. Only drones. The plan can still work.
The Crusaders on the western bridges made it halfway across. Not far enough. “Come on…”
Three-quarters across. “Nearly there…”
The main force made it halfway across Sigurd Bridge. “A little more…”
The Crusaders on the western bridges had almost covered their entire lengths. Clara took out her hearing aid. “NOW!”
Sticks of C4, demolition charges, and dynamite strapped to the supports of the western bridges detonated, tearing the structures into dozens of smaller pieces and sending their Crusaders tumbling into the water below. The drop wasn’t too high as to kill, but the shrapnel would’ve handled that, and in any case, their goal was to deny use of the bridges to the enemy. Seconds later, she heard explosions booming from the north and the south as all other bridges connecting to the western bank of the Klarälven simultaneously exploded and collapsed. All bridges…except Sigurd Bridge. They had also rigged that one to blow, but they left it intact. If the Crusaders wanted to take Tingvalla, they would have to go through the chokepoint Clara and her comrades had just created.
Perfect. They’ve got no choice but to use Sigurd Bridge now.
The abandoned cars currently scattered along the length of Sigurd Bridge weren’t originally there. The original abandoned cars had been cleared out when refugees from the larger cities started arriving, but the townspeople parked their own cars and public vehicles there as part of the plan. The Crusaders wouldn’t have batted an eye at their presence; after all, abandoned cars—especially older gas-powered ones—were a common sight in warzones outside Jerusalem. That was exactly what Clara was counting on.
We didn’t have any of these in Bremerhaven. Count yourselves lucky, my fellow defenders of Tingvalla. She pressed a detonator, and a wave of explosions rippled up and down Sigurd Bridge. Dozens of Crusaders and Hellhounds were immediately incinerated or torn apart as the cars around them suddenly exploded. One APC was flipped over, its wreckage blocking the others behind it. With the enemy’s advance halted, the townspeople emerged from their hiding places to open fire on the scattered formation.
“Odin á yðr alla!”
“Odin owns you all.” A great battle cry, but Odin’s not my god.
“FOR BREMERHAVEN!” Clara opened fire.
“FOR BREMERHAVEN!” the few Roman exiles with her repeated, even if none had actually been there.
Caught by surprise, more Crusaders were quickly gunned down. Those who escaped the initial ambush began shooting back. Clara and the others had expected this. Sigurd Street south of the bridge was filled with cars, buses, and other improvised barricades arranged in such a way as to give the townspeople multiple lines of cover. Having left their ambush spots, they now took up positions at each barricade line, timing their shots in such a way that only a handful were reloading at any given time, and never an entire line. The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and men and women screaming in pain and shouting old Norse battle cries. Several bullets zipped past Clara, but she remained unfazed. A tank’s machine guns opened fire, cutting down several townspeople who had left cover, and its main cannon swiveled to target the first barricade. Before it could fire, Sylvia lifted a heavy RPG launcher onto her shoulder.
“Gods, this is heavy,” she muttered, “But whatever.
Odin á yðr alla!”
She fired the launcher, the recoil violently throwing her back onto her butt. The rocket struck the tank’s engine dead on and caused it to explode in a giant fireball. The Crusaders scattered even further to avoid the shrapnel, leading to them becoming completely surrounded and isolated from each other.
Sylv seems to be taking to real combat quite well. Too well. A little scared...
The townspeople turned out to be everywhere, not just at the barricades they had set up. Clara saw a man hiding in a pothole, taking silent shots with what appeared to be a crossbow. There was an old woman hiding behind a car, firing a shotgun almost as big as her. Several bearded farmers assaulted any nearby Crusaders with pitchforks. A young delinquent-looking man bashed in the enemy’s heads with a steel baseball bat, while his friends picked up various things they found on the street—bikes, shopping carts, dislocated street signs, shrapnel, rubble—and attacked the Hellhounds, overwhelming them with superior numbers and blunt attacks. A middle-aged woman literally disarmed Crusaders with a meat cleaver. One old man, a veteran of the last world war from the tattered ill-fitting Scandinavian uniform he wore, simply wrenched the gun out of a Crusader’s hands and then shot him with it without any difficulty. And then there was Joey doing…something involving a bucket of water, a flute, and what appeared to be a cow. It was surprisingly effective. Her mind refused to process the details. Not that it couldn’t, it just didn’t want to.
Not the army I was expecting, but it’ll have to do. A Hellhound lunged for Clara. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself, she aimed and fired her pistol once. The bullet sheared off one of its front legs, causing it to stumble and fall over. Clara approached and fired two more point blank shots into its CPU, neutralizing it.
“DEUS VULT!” a Crusader ran at her with the bayonet on his assault rifle. Clara instinctively tensed up, remembering the dozens of similar incidents from Bremerhaven. Her mind flashed back to the time a Crusader slammed her against the wall and cut her hair with a knife.
No. Not anymore. I’m not afraid. She pushed the memory away and dodged the stab before shooting him in the back of his leg. The Crusader tried crawling away from her, but it was futile. Clara grabbed the man by his collar. With her free hand, she put seeds into the Crusader’s pocket, then shot him in the head. The Crusader fell, blood pooling around his body.
At least when you’re buried, Scandinavian heathers will grow. Returning to the battle, she spotted Sylvia bashing a Crusader with the empty launcher, though she was clearly struggling at it. Clara finished the Crusader off with a shot to the chest.
“You know, if it’s too heavy, you can just find something else,” Clara said.
Sylvia shook her head. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Suit yourself,” Clara said.
She heard screeching tires from Sigurd Bridge. There, she saw the blocked APCs backing up to flee, but their escape route had been blocked by tractors.
“I thought everyone on the mainland had been evacuated,” Sylvia said.
“All
civilians,” Clara said.
The tractors rolled onto the bridge and surrounded the APCs. The transports’ rooftop machine gunners fired back, but their bullets pinged off the improvised metal armor welded to the windshields, leaving only a small slit for drivers to see through. The tractors slammed into the APCs with makeshift rams attached to their fronts. The battering rams punched through their armor and dug deep into the vehicles. With their enemies pinned down, the tractors turned perpendicular to the road and drove straight for the edge of the bridge. All of the APCs were sent plunging into the river. The tractors avoided the same fate by detaching their rams as soon as the enemy vehicles dipped over the edge.
“Is that all of them?” Sylvia said. “I think that’s all of them. WOOHOO! VICTORY!”
At that moment, Clara heard the buzzing of a drone coming from above. “Sylv, get down!”
She tackled Sylvia to the ground just as a missile came down and exploded where she once was, throwing rubble and gravel in all directions. Some of the rocks struck Clara, making light cuts in her skin, but she didn’t care, as long as Sylvia was safe. “Frak! Should’ve remembered they’d break out the drones eventually.”
Like they did in Bremerhaven.
Once they had found cover, Clara looked up at the sky, trying to find the drone. She soon found it hovering over a building in the next block. It was a four-rotor recon drone adapted for combat with a small rocket launcher. Its setup allowed it to easily turn in any direction when needed, but it still only had one camera for its human operator and AI to receive data through. She could exploit that weakness.
“It may have its back to us, but we won’t have our backs to it,” Clara said, “The enemy will see our faces, not our backs.”
Clara grabbed a grenade off a dead Crusader, armed it, and tossed it down the street. The explosion got the drone’s attention, and it flew closer to investigate. Once it got within range, Clara ran up to it and drew her gun. The drone spun around to aim its rocket launcher, but by then Clara had fired a bullet into the drone’s CPU. The machine fell to earth and shattered against the pavement.
“You’ll see
my face.” She spat on the mangled electronics and then, for good measure, fired another bullet into its camera.
Clara heard Sylvia giggling. She turned back and saw her wife was blushing.
“What?” she asked.
“Did I ever tell you how cute you look when you act tough?” Sylvia said.
“How does that even make sense?” Clara said. “Cuteness and toughness are completely different!”
“Still, you do look cute.”
Clara started blushing again. “Uh, no, we’re not doing this right now. We’re literally in a battle!”
“Aw, come on, Clara,” Sylvia said, “Can’t you at least thank me?
Please?”
Clara tried resisting, but Sylvia’s puppy eyes broke down her barriers, like usual. “Okay, okay, fine! Thanks, Sylv.”
Sylvia smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Please, Sylv, focus on the battle!”
Sylvia picked up the launcher and held it like a baseball bat. “I
am focused!”
Honestly, she is
cute when she’s acting like that…
Livonia
Boris’ numbers—both manpower and ammo—were running critically low now, and it had only been an hour or two since Haynau had attacked. He had thought they would have enough to last a day, but he would be lucky if they made it to noon. The situation was worse than he feared.
“Kowalski…status report.” He had repeated that line so many times in the last hour he suspected Kowalski was ready to give one at the mere mention of his name.
“We’ve taken out yet another whole platoon trying to rush our trench,” Kowalski said, in between taking shots.
Boris loaded more bullets into his rifle. “That’s not enough. Damnit, how many men does Haynau have?”
“Too many for someone like him,” Kowalski said.
“Please tell me we’re reaching his limit,” Boris said.
“You see, killbots have a preset kill limit, so knowing their weakness, I sent wave after wave of my own men at them until they reached their limit and shut down.” I both wish it were that easy and dread actually having to do that. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if that is a genuine Crusader tactic.
“I doubt it, sir. By all measures, we should’ve been overwhelmed by now.”
“Damnit.” Boris shot at another approaching platoon. “How many do we still have?”
“…about fifty.” Kowalski looked down. “Sir, I’m not optimistic about our chances.”
“Neither am I,” Boris said, “But…at least this way we can decide how we go out.”
Suddenly, the gunfire ceased. The forest grew deathly quiet. Boris swore he could hear a mouse running somewhere. “What just happened?”
“Not sure, sir.” Kowalski poked his head above the trench. The Crusaders were still there, but they weren’t shooting. “Why aren’t they shooting?”
“Huh,” Boris said, “They stopped shooting at us? Don’t they know we’re not going to stop?”
He aimed at the nearest Crusader and curled a finger around the trigger.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Bradziunas!” a heavily accented voice boomed across the forest via megaphone.
“Who’s that?!” Boris replied.
“You know who I am!”
“Engelbert von Haynau,” Boris realized, “The Butcher of Lithuania’s come here to personally greet me, huh?”
“I take offense at that name,” Haynau said.
“Like you took offense to literally everything about Livonia?”
“That’s different,” Haynau said, “That’s my job.”
“I have no idea how to respond to that.” Kowalski shook his head.
“Well, I’m not even going to try,” Boris said.
“You want to know why I halted my attack?” Haynau said. “I’m going to give you one last chance to surrender.”
“Are you kidding me?” Boris said. “What makes you think I’m going to take that?”
“You do value your lives, right?” Haynau said. “I’m offering the chance for you and your men to survive.”
“To be tortured and killed later, probably,” Kowalski said.
“You have my word your men won’t be killed, Bradziunas.”
Something was left out in that statement. “But nothing about me, huh?”
Haynau dodged the question. “So what will it be? Life or death?”
Boris turned to Kowalski and lowered his voice. “You do know I won’t blame you if you take the offer.”
Kowalski stared at him. “Why the hell would I, though?”
Boris shrugged. “To save your life?”
“You really think I’d abandon you like that, sir?!” Kowalski said. “Especially for almost certain imprisonment and torture? You wound me, sir!”
“No, no!” Boris held up his hands, trying to backtrack. “I just thought, if you had a chance to live, even if terribly…”
“Sir.” Kowalski cut him off. “I’d rather die than put myself at the mercy of Jerusalem. You already said it yourself. You’re surrounded by the bravest men in all of Livonia. That isn’t just bluster. We
will defend you and our nation to the death. So frak whatever half-baked offer of surrender that monster thinks we’re stupid enough to take, because we won’t!”
He stood straight up, making him visible to the Crusaders. “HEY, HAYNAU!”
“Yes?” Haynau said.
“
PIEPRZYĆ TY!” He sprayed bullets in all directions, shooting several Crusaders before they could react. The rest of the Crusaders returned fire, forcing him to duck.
“Seriously?” Haynau sounded annoyed. “I gave you a generous offer, and you just want to die?!”
Kowalski turned to Boris. “This guy seriously believes his offer is
generous, can you believe it?”
Boris rolled his eyes. “Want to show this guy some good old Commonwealth hospitality?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Kowalski smiled.
Boris stood up. “HEY, BUTCHER!
VELKITE TAVE!”
The battle raged on.
The Pacific
The sun was getting low now, but the battle showed no signs of stopping. Higa’s feet ached from the dozens of times he crossed the flight deck, helping various crews out with their tasks—reloading the anti-aircraft guns, refueling planes, restocking ammo, and so on. But he refused to let it slow him down. Although there was a secondary bridge on one of the lower floors of
Sanzan, built specifically for something like this, Higa refused to go there yet. He wanted—no, needed—to help his crew on the deck, as a way to maintain morale. But he wasn’t not commanding as he did so. An improvised radio had been set up to allow him to issue orders to the rest of the fleet.
Damnit, where’s Liu’s ship? He definitely heard of what happened to my ship. But if we take him out first, we won’t have to worry about Sanzan
being hit again.
He heard the roar of approaching jet engines and looked up. Another squadron of Chinese jets was approaching
Sanzan, this one from due north. Deck crews barked orders at each other, and the anti-aircraft guns swiveled to aim at the enemy. Higa, though, simply stopped and observed the enemy formation. “North…northwest…they’re all coming from the same direction.”
But that would be too convenient. There was no way Liu would give up his position that easily. Higa next observed the speed of the jets. They were flying a bit slower than usual. Too slow compared to their speed on the radar.
“They must be conserving fuel,” he realized, “Conserving fuel for…a longer flight route.”
If those were
Xi Wangmu’s planes, which was extremely likely, then that meant the carrier
wasn’t in the north. It couldn’t be in the east or due south. He had ships in the east, and Fusang was in the south, but Fusang’s aircraft couldn’t reach
Sanzan. Which left only…
“He’s in the west,” Higa concluded.
With the enemy jets still incoming, he ran back to the makeshift radio and dialed to the proper secured channel. “Get me Hong right now!”
“Right away, sir.” There was a beep, and then Higa heard Hong Wuchang’s voice. “This is Admiral Hong with
Ōryu, standing by for orders.”
“I need you to search due west for
Xi Wangmu,” Higa said.
“Due west? But Liu’s aircraft are coming from the north.”
“Trust me on this one.” Higa tried to convey his urgency through the transmitter as best as he could. “Liu wouldn’t be dumb enough to reveal his position like that. He means to flank us with
Xi Wangmu, then divert our attention to the wrong area to leave us exposed while the flagship is crippled. We need to take him out first.”
There was a small pause. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll issue the orders at once.”
“Thank you, that will be—”
“INCOMING!”
What, again? Higa put down the radio and looked up at the incoming enemy aircraft. By now, all of
Sanzan’s remaining defenses had launched a deafening salvo of machine gun and artillery fire, which filled the air in between the carrier and jets with flak, bullets, and explosions. One by one, the jets exploded, but some got through. They seemed to be heading straight for Higa himself.
“What’s with my luck today?” Higa drew a pistol and aimed at the planes, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to do anything with it. “You come at the admiral, you better not miss!”
Three planes remained. Higa pulled the trigger twice, though obviously he wouldn’t hit any of them. While the rest of his crew scrambled for cover, he stood his ground, having faith in his ship’s defenses. One jet exploded, and two remained. Higa took a deep breath and pointed his gun at one of the remaining jets. A second later, that jet’s wing was torn off by gunfire from one of the point defense turrets, and it veered downward into the ocean. One jet remained. Higa pointed his gun at the last one and steadied his breathing. A cannon round ripped through the fuselage of the jet, but in the split second before detonation, it managed to fire one missile straight at Higa.
---
From the bridge of
Ōryu, Hong Wuchang could clearly see the explosion tear through
Sanzan in the distance. It had torn a giant hole in the side of the carrier and devastated a large portion of the flight deck.
“Sir, confirmed hit on
Sanzan,” one of his bridge crew reported, “Massive damage to the starboard hull and flight deck.”
“Casualties?” Hong said.
“Unknown.”
Hong still had the radio receiver in his hand. It had suddenly gone silent the moment the missile hit. Did that mean…?
If they got the admiral, we’re screwed. “Change course to pull up alongside
Sanzan. Prepare to take on their wounded. Launch our third squadron to clear the area.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer turned to leave.
But what about Admiral Higa? Hong held up a hand and stopped the officer. “One more thing.”
“What is it, sir?”
“Send some teams to look for Admiral Higa and make sure he’s okay.”
The officer nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ll find the admiral.”
“I sure hope so,” Hong said, “You may go now.”
The officer saluted and left. Hong picked up an intercom speaker.
“This is Admiral Hong,” he said, “Five minutes ago, the flagship
Sanzan was critically damaged by a Chinese missile. Admiral Higa Ryunosuke, unfortunately, remains unaccounted for in the aftermath of the attack. We have reason to believe he’s still alive, but the fact remains he cannot issue orders at present.”
He leaned into the microphone. “So until we find him, I will be taking command of the Ryukyuan fleet, effective immediately.
Sanzan banzai, Ryukyu banzai!”
Mesopotamia
The morning was quiet and still. Samir scanned the battlefield using binoculars, quickly spotting the glint of black metal. His eyes sorted that into a gun in a black-clad Crusader’s hands. Then he saw another glint and another until Crusaders covered the entire horizon from left to right.
“Here they come,” he said, “Get ready!”
He heard the creak of gears as Persian artillery and tanks aimed and fired with roaring booms. Seconds later, the first shells hit their targets. When the smoke cleared, large gaps appeared in the enemy lines, but more Crusaders from over the horizon made up for their lost comrades.
“
Merde,” Billy said.
Samir heard booms in the distance as Jerusalem’s artillery returned fire. Seconds later, the first enemy shells hit around the citadel. An old tower and the remnants of an outer wall exploded, taking with it the gun hidden there. One Persian tank was hit so hard it flipped over several times, its turret thrown clean off the rest of the vehicle.
“We should fall back,” Gulichi said.
“No,” Samir said, “You heard Leyla. Hold your position.”
Not like we have anywhere to go.
The reduced Persian artillery fire allowed the Crusaders to continue their advance. Some tried fanning out, but the Persians had secured their flanks, and the terrain wasn’t advantageous for an assault on the citadel from any direction other than due west. Ultimately, the main enemy force approached from that direction. Once they came within range, machine gun nests stationed along the perimeter—hidden in the ruins of walls and watchtowers—opened fire. Flames erupted from the muzzles of the guns as they sprayed hundreds of bullets into the enemy’s direction. Dozens fell, but more replaced them. Samir peered through his scope to look for his white marks. He found one, but it was nowhere near the enemy yet.
“Stand by, weapons ready,” he said.
The remaining artillery guns fired at reinforcements further away, while short-range mortars pounded closer enemies.
“Come on, Samir, when can we shoot?” Ruby said.
“Not yet.” Samir kept his eye on the marker. “We wouldn’t hit anything at this range.”
“There’s so many of them I’m bound to hit at least one!”
“And waste your ammo like that? No, we’re almost there…”
He took a deep breath.
Come on, come on…
Although the outer machine guns cut down dozens of Crusaders, more made it past. Several well thrown grenades took out the machine guns or the towers and walls their crews used for cover or high ground, burying them under rubble. The machine guns within the citadel fired, but their rate of fire had been greatly reduced without the outer guns to back them up. More Crusaders approached. Closer, closer, closer…
Nearly there. Then the first of the black boots stomped over the white marks. “Now! Fire!”
Everyone opened fire. Samir pulled his trigger, feeling the rhythmic jolting of his rifle against his arm and shoulder. His ears winced from all of the gunshots around him, but he persisted. Their bullets tore through the first line of Crusaders, and then the next, and the next. He burned through his clip. Reached for another one, he realized he was on his fifth. By now, the bulk of the enemy force had neared the citadel and started scaling the small hill the structure sat on. They had gotten close enough that Samir could now see their faces.
No. I can’t think about that right now. We’ll do what we must. He resumed firing. Four bullets shredded through a Crusader’s abdomen and exited out his back. The soldier collapsed onto his stomach but still attempted to crawl further. Gulichi put him out of his misery with a shot to the head.
“You know, I should’ve been a sniper,” he said, “Like Admiral Tania.”
“Remind me to call her if we survive this,” Samir said.
There were still a few machine gun nests outside the citadel, but these were being overrun now. The Crusaders rushed those positions with bayonets and knives.
Bayonets this early? Must be running low on ammo. That’s weird. They should have no problem resupplying where we are. Unless they really sent everything to Isfahan.
The Persian gun crews attempted to fight back with their own bayonets, but they were overwhelmed. Within another minute, all of the remaining outer machine guns had been seized. In response, the citadel defenders used rockets to destroy the guns and prevent them from being turned against them.
“Damnit,” Billy said, “Looks like it’s just us. Orders?”
“Same as the old ones,” Samir answered, “We keep shooting.”
The enemy resumed marching up the hill. They climbed as a single unit, almost like a roaring waterfall in reverse. The Liberation Legion and the machine gunners in the citadel focused their fire on the closest ones, spraying blood on the walls and ground behind them. The Crusaders fired back. Dozens of Persians fell. Bullets zipped past Samir, forcing him to take cover.
“Come on!” Ruby shouted, emptying her latest clip into the enemy lines. “Is that all you got?!”
Samir looked past the vanguard. The reinforcements were thinning out. No…they had stopped. “We’re nearly there. There aren’t many more left in this wave.”
“You sure?” Gulichi said.
“Trust me on this, keep shooting!” Samir said.
Everyone continued firing. Samir’s ears gradually got used to all of the sounds he was hearing. The gunshots, explosions, screaming, it all blended together in one deafening mess. “CEASE FIRE!” The gunfire stopped. When Samir blinked, the surviving Crusaders were in the process of retreating. The ground around them was now littered with the remains of the dead. A handful of survivors desperately tried crawling away to safety, only to be cut down by Persian gunfire.
“We…we did it,” Gulichi said, “We did it!”
“WOO!” Ruby said. “We’re still alive!”
Samir just leaned back and sighed with relief. “We were lucky, Ruby.”
“What do you mean, lucky?”
He pointed at the bodies of dead Persians from other squads. “That could’ve been us at any point.”
“If they dropped missiles on us, that is,” Billy said.
“On that note, I noticed something,” Samir said, “They were using bayonets once they got close. They could’ve just kept shooting and killed us faster, but they didn’t.”
“They’re monsters,” Ruby said, “Maybe they wanted us to suffer.”
“No, it’s not that,” Samir said, “It’s the same reason they haven’t hit us with missiles yet. They
can’t.”
“They can’t?”
“They don’t have the ammo. They sent it all to Isfahan. The troops here are just cannon fodder.”
Like us.
“How do you know that?” Gulichi said.
“A hunch, based on my observations.” Samir tapped his earpiece. “Leyla, want to double-check?”
“Sure,” Leyla responded, “I’ll see what I can get on my end. Will have to get back to you.”
“Better get that sooner rather than later. I don’t want to underestimate the enemy’s remaining strength.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Leyla said, “You guys stay safe. I don’t want to have nobody to deliver my news to.”
“I’ll try,” Gulichi said.
“
We’ll try,” Samir covered for him, “We’ll survive. Whatever it takes.”
(Prologue B - Xenoblade Chronicles 1)
The Crusaders were advancing southeast down Nausherwan Street. The Artesh calculated the enemy would take this route to hit the city center from the north and had fortified it accordingly. Hundreds of Persian soldiers had been stationed at regular intervals along the street, setting up sandbags, machine guns, and barbed wire to turn the route into a death trap for any attempting to use it. Every so often, enemy tanks would roll out from Sedeh, in the northwest, and attempt to clear a way for the Crusader infantry behind them, only to be blasted to pieces by Persian mortars and rockets fired from the backyards and rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Crusader aerial drones and helicopters attempted to locate the hidden artillery, but they didn’t get far before they were shot down by Persian jets, aided by aging MiGs—the remains of the Russian air force which had evacuated the country with Wilhelmina after the fall of Tsarberg. It was also futile to attack the street from western cross streets instead of entering it from Sedeh and going down almost its full length. The Persians always drove them back with overwhelming machine gun fire and air strikes, but they likewise could not retake territory already lost. The two sides were locked in a stalemate.
Two Crusader tanks rolled down Nausherwan Street, followed by several squads of black-clad soldiers. On cue, the creaky gears of the Persian artillery guns stationed several blocks to the south moved the cannons into position, and four loud thumps resonated across the Persian lines. The salvo landed around the tanks, killing several Crusaders but missing their targets. The tanks fired on the Persian barricades in front of them. Two squads abandoned their positions and retreated, only to be cut down by the tanks’ machine guns. Others held the line and fired back with rocket-propelled grenades and their own machine guns.
One soldier shouted into his walkie-talkie. “We need air support at the intersection of Nausherwan Street and Soltani Avenue! Repeat, air support at intersection of Nausherwan and—” A tank round obliterated him before he could finish his sentence.
Several blocks southeast of Soltani Avenue, a new unit deployed onto the battlefield. Wilhelmina galloped up Nausherwan Street as ambulances and civilian volunteers drove the wounded back in the other direction. She zipped past lines of barricades, sandbags, and barbed wire as bullets whizzed through the air around her. Cheers erupted from the Persian defensive lines as she passed by, eventually turning into an earth-shaking roar that stalled the Crusader offensive, even if only for a few seconds. “
Pâyande Bâdâ Irân!” The battle cry reverberated up and down the street, accompanied by hundreds of bayonet-affixed rifle muzzles and regulation-compliant Persian flags thrust skywards.
Another direct assault down Nausherwan, even after the last few direct assaults all ended badly. How many brain cells does Jerusalem have again?
Wilhelmina reached Soltani Avenue and the enemy’s range. Upon spotting her, the tanks’ turrets erupted with fire and thunder. Without hesitation, Wilhelmina drew Enonon. The blade sang like ethereal music as it was pulled free, although by all means the metal wouldn’t have even made a sound as it left the scabbard. Then again, this was also a sword where the Greek letters and flowing water-like patterns of the Damascus steel were now glowing a bright white. The light grew to engulf the entire blade before expanding outwards—another inch along the edges and another foot from the tip, reminding Wilhelmina of the energy blade of the Monado from a game she played so many years ago. Enonon’s ethereal glow pierced through the morning gloom and illuminated the two incoming tank shells.
I may die if I take a stand here, but I’ve chosen to stand. Being here gives us a chance to change our destinies. Fight the bleak future Jerusalem has determined for us. We can change things, now that I have Enonon. She brandished Enonon. “If you think we’re just waiting here for you to pick us off, you’re sorely mistaken!” She recalled Franz’s last words back in the bunker. “The people of the free world WILL NEVER LET YOU TRIUMPH! The future doesn’t belong to you, vile Jerusalem!”
She slashed to her left and then again to her right. The first strike deflected one shell away from her and into the street, where it blew a small crater in the pavement, and the second knocked the other shell into a building to her right. The tanks’ machine guns opened fire. Wilhelmina’s perception of time slowed down, and her vision focused, allowing her to see the bullets closing in. She thrust out her left hand and flicked her wrist, and the bullets swerved away from her, pinging off the pavement and the sides of abandoned cars like hail on a stormy day.
Wilhelmina had now reached the tanks, and as she passed between them, she swung Enonon around her once, cutting deep into both vehicles’ armor to render their treads useless. Another slash, and their cannon turrets clattered to the ground, decapitated. One more slash, and the machine guns became useless pieces of metal. Heidi continued on, and Wilhelmina now directed her at the Crusaders behind the tanks. The Crusaders shot at her with their rifles, but she again deflected them. Riding straight through them, she swept around her with Enonon, which left behind wisps of energy in its wake as it sliced through the enemy’s guns. Wilhelmina stopped in her tracks and turned back at the now disarmed squad.
“Leave now, while you still have your lives,” she said, “I don’t want to harm you.”
Several shots rang out, and all of the Crusaders crumpled to the ground, dead. Wilhelmina raised Enonon in time to repel another volley of bullets from the Crusader drone hovering a block away. The bullets were sent back to their origin, destroying the drone.
They’d rather kill their own men than let them surrender. Just like in Samarkand.
She continued up the street to the next Crusader squad, doing the same with their tanks and vehicles. This time, before she disarmed the Crusaders, she pulled back to a safe distance and tried again.
“Please, hear me out!” she said. “I’m giving you a choice your superiors never gave you. I’m going to spare your lives, and you are either going to surrender or retreat. You’re not going to win here. There is no chance of this city falling, as long as I am around to defend it. It’s futile to keep fighting. I don’t want to kill you. My grievances are with Elias Anhorn, not you, so you are free to—”
The Crusaders fired everything they had in her direction. Wilhelmina almost yelped in surprise. She raised Enonon and deflected the bullets.
“Okay, let’s try this again.” She spoke slower. “I—am—going—to—spare—you. So—can—you—please—just—leave—us—in—pea—” The Crusaders fired again, forcing Wilhelmina to deflect more bullets.
“Seriously, can you just let me talk? Good communication is the first step towards lasting—”
More bullets. Another deflection. Wilhelmina lost her temper.
“KNOCK IT OFF, I’M TRYING TO MAKE A SPEECH HERE! Now, as I was saying, I…I…NOW…UH…UM…OH FOR FRAK’S SAKE, NOW I LOST MY PLACE! THAT’S IT, I’M DONE TRYING!”
She dismounted and charged towards the Crusaders on foot.
I swear, I’m starting to speak like Gunduz.
---
Tingvalla has references to various anecdotes of Ukrainian civilians’ resistance during the Russian invasion. The tractor taking out the APCs was lightly inspired by the meme of Ukrainian farmers in tractors stealing Russian tanks.
Odin á yðr alla! was found on Wikipedia as an alleged Norse war cry. Not sure about the historicity of that. I'll discuss this a little more in detail in my notes for Chapter 467.
And yes, that’s a Futurama reference in Boris’ internal monologue. It’s definitely something he’d watch.
Wilhelmina’s “vile Jerusalem” declaration references the start of Xenoblade 1, where the linked music plays. Originally I was going to use the “War” track here, but I decided using this more intense track better fits the mood.
