The Kerfeliz held the city of Gresh with it's palms. From a hill, Friedrick sighted the retreating Kerfeliz forces bringing something outside the gate. "Looks like they've done got themselves some artilery," glancing at an officer; "Yell out artilery inbound."
"Yes, sir."
"Four of them," Matthaus spotted. "Seems like just the barrel of their tanks-"
"Speaking of tanks, we should suspect they have more of them inside the city. How goes our flank?"
"Fine, they're securing a spot to fire off from. The Kerfeliz don't seem to be retreating from the other exit of Gresh's northern side. Overconfidence?"
"Or lack thereof." Friedrick smiled, "but if they think they can fight back, then can fight. Tell my men I want them to secure a boundary around Gresh, while we bombard with our motars, I doubt that they'll have the morale to stay hidden inside."
Large distant booms echoed the field from the uncontrolled blasts of the Kerfelizian artillery guns. Their rounds sending shrapnel and all kinds of ick southward and towards Friedrick's troops. They were grazed, luckily undamaged. But too dangerous to linger.
"That's some power right there…" He whispered to himself, "the armor protecting the artillery men should probably be the same as those tanks of theirs, maybe even thicker. Matthaus' wouldn't be able to penetrate those. Just one thing these men have missed; we can lob mortars from a safe distance."
Two ticks and three seconds later; small blasts of explosions made a mess of Gresh's large stone walls and surrounding land. The artillery band near the gate disbanded inside, thankfully in fear. Unfortunately none of the mortar hits were able to scathe them. A miss.
Friedrick retreated in the shadows of the forest. His face forming a sinister smile.
( * )
[Within the walls of the Venit-ille Military HQ]
Hierd fiddled with a pencil, observing the war map of the whole continent. He stood alone in the war-room, for his Generals were out and about their designated zones.
"The Northern Alliance consist of four-or-so countries." Hierd thought, "Farthest North is the Lottidenty Empire, which holds developed technology that can 'fight' with my guns, which should be the main supplier and manufacturer of the tanks and armaments my troops have seen in Kerfeliz (the country just below the Empire).
"But, it won't be as simple as that." Hierd bit his thumb in frustration, "the fucks of Hesia are being bombarded by the Ruskans."
Ruska was the intermediary between the Latessian continent to the other part of the world, the fact that it has a stronghold that can border West Latessia from East Latessia is not the best. No, "it's really… Really! Not good."
"They're a small country (in some sense)," continued Hierd, "kind-of the same shape as Cyprus, but their troops and armaments will undoubtedly overwhelm the Hesians with their non-existant army.
"Since the battle's happening more so in-land, Hesia's warship and battleships can't do anything. And if Ruska can successfully overwhelm my detached Ridge-Brown army as well as Hesia's puny force; they'll start blockading supply from land!
"They're primarily going beside the Latessian mountain-range. South…"
"South…"
He slammed his hand, "taking Port Geo and the city of Jane!" Hierd laughed, "what a dastardly plan! The Ruskan navy and their 'ironclad-like' galleons can't do anything in the face of my and Hesia's warships. And to attack a seaside city, fully protected by my forces…"
He sat down, sighing.
"The detached battalion I sent to Hesia two days before the war started was sent through sea since Ruska was exerting control over our contested regions. I didn't want to spice things without war being declared, so I didn't try to bring them through land.
"But! Because of that, the battalion would only be able to use machine guns, light vehicles, and what? One or two-so tanks. I shouldn't worry, right? I thought them… But this time, their enemies have about the same equipment as them. Gun-to-gun battle. Truly one of my nightmares.
"Never." He stood up, throwing the pencil onto the map, "never had I expected them to be able to use guns."
( * )
The German Express was expanded upon. Understanding the greatness of such a fast and reliable way to transport people and supply; Hierd's military (without even needing his command) rapidly constructed railway that branched from the capital to Betelion's capital and North Handerbour.
But one thing remained greatly entrenched in the second day of the war. Ruska.
The city of Gresh in upper Betelion had been (by most part) taken care of under Friedrick's momentous artillery barrage victory. And, in just about four hours from thence, the Scharnhorst would be performing a devastating coastal bombardment.
Of course Hierd was afraid of Kerfeliz's or Lottidenty's warships (had indeed they were turret ships, had the capability to fire great naval guns, and were fast enough to evade Scharnhorst's superior advances).
He hoped not.
Marrise and Hierd were aboard the express, in their own private cab.
"Will you need anything, lord?"
"No. Nothing." Hierd bowed, "that will be all."
The attendant bowed lower, "please do not bow to me lord, I thank the lord for his sacrifices." And immidiately left.
Marrise smiled, smug. "We're headed to Ruska, are we not?"
"We are." Hierd crossed his hands and put his feet up on the cushioned couch, resting comfortably. "The Ruskans stand (as of now) our biggest threat. And would… No… Will. They will constrain our efforts and may even have a chance at thwarting them."
"And I am here, why?"
"You've made quite a name for yourself, and plus, you're a noble aren't you?"
Marisse rested the same way as Hierd. Putting her hands together and clasping them. "A noble… I've not heard that in a while."
"I've kind-of abolished the nobility ever since my take over. Sorry about that."
"Don't be." She chuckled lightly, "the noble system's a cesspool of stain! If you were a noble I don't think you'd live even one day in the social nothingness of the nobilty. Their sharp glances, thoughts, and pride. I send my thank you to Auferstan's creator that I was born who I was in the rank I was in.
"But anyways!" She cried out, jolting Hierd. "What am I here for again?"
"I expect you to take the role of a monarch seriously. As for this time, my Generals are quite in a hold-up in the Northern and Eastern theatre. After I usurp the Ruskans, you shall begin the faux rule as the commander-general of the now Ruskan province."
"What a blow to pride." Marrise mired in Hierd's idea. "But what makes you think I can handle the job? I was a princess, I know that. But now in this modern day, where people have guns and are just newly introduced to the concepts you bring out of the blue; I myself haven't fully learned the strategies, and I am sure that even if I were a major; I wouldn't be able to command a company with my experience. But you expect me to handle a country."
Hierd groaned.
Marrise's brows frowned, and twitched. "What? Too long for you?"
"Just take this; 'I trust you in doing this, because I can trust you.' How's that?"
A sudden silence.
"Great."
The train began moving, rapidly leaving Unchean under full steam.
( * )
The train held the bulk of the army's needed supplies and was headed to it's eastern-most destination. A border town between Ruska and Betelion, it's name too irrelevant for Hierd to know.
The train carried the supplies while Hierd had his troops drive by truck. The full battalion of trained Venit-Ille Black troops with ten tiger tanks, ten lightly armored vehicles, and a whole lotta artillery (they were Pak40s that were attached to the end of a truck, of which there were a realistic twenty). Since, what the fight will mostly be relying on wouldn't be guns. And instead;
"Powerful blasts." Hierd fathomed the great distance, and the sheer geography of Ruska. "And yet I don't even think that'd be enough."
"This is the famous Ruska Valley." Marisse exited the truck. "Spanning from both sides of Ruska's lateral South and North, I've never got to see it, but now that I have; the notes of travelers, the authors I've read who've came here and have written their experience and wonder; now I see they weren't maniacal in that this place was just… Otherwordly."
"Otherworldly in two senses." Hierd tightened his fists. "This isn't really a valley, it's a plain. But because of how low it reaches, it makes a fake valley. At the other side, I can already see the huge wall. It's the Ruskan Continental Wall. The thing that's stopping us from helping Hesia.
"I've read it from a report of an MP officer, and the battalion of Betelionic knights who came to siege the wall. I read that it was indestructible, a force to reckon with. The wall stretches as much as the great wall of China in length, so there's no going around it; and lined on the wall are a whole lot of cannons (stacked in the same formation as a galleon's), that, in volley, will seriously fuck-up my troops. If I was stupid enough to charge like the Betelions.
"The Ruskans are smart," Hierd noted the distance (about six to five kilometers give or take), "medieval cannons barely reach the same distance as my artillery can. Although if they were fighting with another medieval force, I can see that the one sieging the wall wouldn't even be able to do even that; effective ranges are about one to two kilometers (for the cannons), while my Pak40s and Tigers can reach seven to eight kilometers."
"Sir," an officer greeted, saluting. "Your orders, lord?"
Hierd smirked, "We bombard one section of the wall. Seeing as it's just a straight wall and their range is doggy doo, it can't intervene. We should not waste any ammunition and we need to be frugal with it."
"We target one section of the wall, bombarding in equal separation." The officer continued.
"Yes, maximizing through minimizing, per-say." Hierd frowned, "however… If the wall's thicker. Like a Chinese mound wall, I doubt our artillery would make a dent."
"Lord," the officer intervened, "I don't know what this Chinese Mound Wall would be, however, if it's able to make us… Unable to strike the wall, then I shall fear that too."
Hierd looked at him while chuckling slightly. "Relay my command. As I had said. Hmm… Fire that section, it's low to the land and shouldn't be hard to traverse for our troops and vehicles unlike a section going uphill. That is all."
"As you wish, lord." He saluted.
---
Leftenant Rome casually rested on the stone battlement of the oh' so great Ruskan Wall. He leaded that flank of the wall, which faced Germany's. He sighed, deeply regretting not injuring himself to land himself somewhere safer to be stationed. But such was his job.
He's been there for five days, and he's seen the system and it's ins and outs.
The wall was tall and practically impregnable for the average army with siege gear. There were three lines of cannons with different angles but all were fixed to that position.
The first one was at the lowest one, with a three-degree angle, for hitting nearby targets, while the second, middle one, had a fourty-five degree angle to hit more longer targets (reaching an approximate two kilometers), while the third one was a straight horizontal angle.
It didn't help that there were twenty-or-so cannons for each section of wall.
Practically, there were hundreds upon hundreds of land galleons, with their cannons facing broadside constantly west.
Rome chuckled.
"Germans." He began walking down the top and towards the ground through the stone-stairs. "Bastards took my life away. Without them I'd be in the countryside living with me' loving wife. But now I gotta be thrusted into war, all because Ruska's in the Northern Alliance. Oh how I wish I could defect." He cried.
"Sir!" A knight bowed, coming towards him. "Sir, you are needed in the meeting room, sir."
"Right on."
Rome took the knights steps and followed him swiftly down the steep stone stairs, crusted by it's ancient-likedness. Flying through the knights enjoying their company within the confines of the walls. And then finally to the bottom, opening a door that led outside.
A brisk jog.
They entered a small cabin-like house. It was new, made just a week ago because of the Germans specifically.
"Sir!" They bowed when Rome entered. "Please look at this. It is a message from a scout that we had received just moments ago. This… Is quite unprecedented."
He grabbed the written parchment the man was holding.
It read;
"German forces have entered out border through the German-Ruskan passage. Based on their direction, they will be headed towards Leftenant Rome's 'coo,' they carry a multitude of mechanical wagons, and iron tanks, as well as 'self-artilery.' Their convoy and amount of trucks suggest a battalion sized force. Concluding;
The Germans are Coming."
Rome tisked, a boiling heat, an uncontrollable irritation rised within him. Crumpling the parchment he gripped so hardly with his right hand.
The knights in the room stood silent and nervous. Anxious as to what will happen next, and afraid to say another word.
"This is the worst case scenario." Rome began to think, still clouded in anger, "I've read of their weaponry, they're vastly superior to anything the Lottydenty's given us. And our tanks and our self-artillery's with the main army in Hesia right now, so all I have at my disposal are the rifles the main army supplied us with (however little they were) and the cannons."
He began to smile. "They should want to break down the wall to cross it. I understand as much. We will need to persist. Even if such happens. The Germans have advanced cannon ranges, and even if we have superior range and ground, I doubt we can battle against their artillery and tanks."
"W-what do you suppose we do sir?" The kniht stuttered to speak.
"Move the top and bottom cannons away from the wall." He yelled, "we keep the middle ones to stage a volley while you transport the cannons out of the walls and prepare trenches behind the wall."
"But sir!" One retorted, "by the time the Germans get here, I doubt we'd get many cannons out simply because of how heavy they are, and that they are fixed! Taking some time with unbolting them from their stations."
Rome scoffed, tisked. "That's a problem. A damned problem. Then; the bottom ones will make do. Go. Go do it now!"
"Yes sir!"
"For the others still here, build trenches a hundred paces away from here. Trenches large enough for a crouched body, gather all the trained riflemen and have the cannons we get from the wall hiddened there. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Now go!"
Rome was in a race that had already started. He knew the scout used a horse, so the information that the German army had just gotten to Ruska is outdated about now, the Germans should probably already be somewhere near the wall, maybe at the other side of the valley.
But, he thought to himself, how would they pull it off? How would the bright minds of the German military pull it off? He could think of many solutions to bring down the wall, but nothing that his insufficient mind could handle and think could work. For him atleast.
An explosion!
"Ah for damn!" He rushed out the cabin, "they're already here!"
He leapt to the door of the wall, running with all his might inwards and towards those steep stairs all the way up, shouting; "fire the middle cannons! Move the bottom cannons! Now, now! Go! Go! Don't dally youn numbnut pricks! Come on! Come on! We're Ruskans aren't we!?"
He reached the top, and with his telescope, he eyed the German force at the very edge of the valley, it was a line of single-barreled self-artillery, the elevation and angle was enough to strike the wall, but some of the explosions were a bit off.
"It seems they're a little too far." Rome grinned, "I'll have a little bit more time detering them from entering the valley. Getting hit with cannon-fire isn't fun, however strong you might be! Damned Germans!"
Sometimes hitting the top of the wall, sometimes hitting a few paces off infront the wall. But. The Pak40s were too fast.
"The reloading time of those self-artilleries… It's too much! It'd take a whole twenty minutes for our ones! And that's… That's just too fast!"
Already, no matter how inaccurate the shots were at some distances, damaging, cracking…
Breaking the wall.
The middle cannons couldn't hit, it's shots were in vain. And soon a section of the wall fell to rubble. Peering from the top, Rome saw many injured knights swimming in the stone rubble, some were even crushed by the very cannons they were firing.
He tisked.
He looked at the other side and saw four cannons making it out safely.
"By this rate, the trenches shouldn't even be a quarter of the way complete, and I need all the knights here to shovel! But what about the Germans!?" -he swished his body around, gasping- "ah! They're moving! Their tanks are moving this way!"
Noticing the barrel was pointed towards him, he quickly ran down the wall.
A blast! The tank had just taken out a section of the wall he had just been standing on like it were a fragile biscuit! How! How could the the great Ruskan wall fall to this!?
Rome couldn't hold the rage he felt within him. Gripping his fists tightly and snarling. "Get out! Everyone grab a damned shovel! And start helping with the damned trenches ya' damned roaches!"
He and his knights fled the quickly falling wall. There was a portion just large enough for a tank to crawl within, even with the rubble. It had been completely flattened out by the artillery fire.
He reached a couple of his officers, "You! Get the other knights from the other stations, signal backup and that we need shovels, rifles, and knights! Now! Now! And you," -he pointed at another officer (for the other ran for his order)- "get the anti-tank defense staves! Get a whole company of knights to get them from tower A!"
"Yes, sir!"
It was hectic.
With the slowly and cautiously approaching German soldiers, of which they could do nothing to hinder their approach, the whole entire section of wall was inactive and Hierd was joyous by that fact.
Rome ran to the quickly being dug trenches, a cornocopia of knights helping while bringing down (what was now five cannons) towards the places were Rome thought fit.
And all cannons were aimed at the clear and open hole that he knew the Germans would take. Since even the Lottidenty-made tanks could take a couple cannonball shots, Rome couldn't even imagine what would happen if he shot at a German tank. "Would it even work...?"
Rumbling.
Rumbling.
The tanks were approaching.
Nearer.
Nearer.
The knight's hearts were beating wildly.
Rome had the about twenty riflemen train at the opening. But what next? What will happen if this defense fails? What will happen to Ruska? What will happen to him? Better yet, "my wife…"
He tisked once more.
The rumbling got worse, and…
From the very top of the rubble, from the tip of the barrel, to the overwhelming shape of the Tiger I. It's foreboding-self, it's fortress hull…
The knights cried.
"Fire!" Rome yelled.
-3- Time slowed down.
-2- The cannon-balls neared.
-1- The cannon-balls neared…
"A strike!" Rome yelled enthusiastically, "and right at the same exact spot! That should've done it!"
"Load another round!" He yelled. But then, the dust cleared from whence the tank sat still and unwavering.
A rumble,
The tank's tracks.
Despair.
"Not even a dent!?" Rome was awestruck, astounded by the fact presented before him. The Tiger I hadn't even been dented!
He turned to his left and his right. "It's over." His subordinates, the knights he commanded over for the past days were running away from the most historically impregnable wall in the history of Latessia.
It had forsaken them.
And now, the Germans fire back.