A Tale of Two Brothers [Closed]

March 7th, 2007

A young 5 year old boy was screaming in a car... "BUT MA! I DON'T WANT TO BE WITHOUT SVENNIE! I LOVE SVENNIE! AND I ALSO WANT TO BE WITH PA!"

The mother in the front seat acted stoically. Although she may have lost her oldest child, probably forever after the divorce, and she remained totally silent, continuing to drive to their new home in Costa d'Oro.

The Child continued: "WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO NOT SEE MY BROTHER OR MY PA! WHY DO THEY HAVE TO MOVE AWAY TO NEW ALEMAN?"

"Matteo. Listen. Sometimes life is unfair. I will still be here for you. I'll explain everything when we get home." The mother finally responded

"BUT I WANT TO BE WITH SVENNIE!" Matteo screamed again

Tears began forming in the mother's eyes, she fully understood Matteo's feelings, but she could do nothing. Her eldest child was going to the clutches of a Communist Regime, and she would probably never see him again. It hurt her deeply to lose her son, but she would raise the son she had to the best of her abilities to a good Predicean. She promised herself, that she would do her utmost to try and get Sven back.

"I'll give you the choice of radio station Mattie." The mother said.

"Can we put on Radio 4?" Matteo asked, whimpering.

"Sure." The mother responds with gratitude at having calmed his son down. It was going to be a long drive...

Prelude

“Brother turned on Brother and with bitter hatred, they watered the earth with one another's blood”

-Inscription from the stone of the Predice saga dated 2023

The land below burned, Bellaterra had become a hellscape of craters, trenchworks and barbed wire, it was the scene of a hateful clash in which no quarter was given. It had all been one nation once and its people brothers united by ties of blood and state, those days were long gone now though. A red spectre had risen, jackbooted throngs marching beneath banners of blood as they proclaimed glory to the proletariat and death to the aristocrats.

Over a decade had passed since the schism, entire families torn apart and separated by walls of concrete and ideology. Fourteen years of hateful rhetoric and squabbles over arbitrary borders had finally boiled over into a fratricidal war, like two duelling brothers Predice and New Aleman battled and so far it was the latter who had the upper hand. The eagle of Meterra fought like a cornered animal as its adversary stood poised to make the killing blow.

In better times the might of the Luscova pact would have been enough to deter an invasion, but the reds had picked their time well. Craviter was rife with internal feuding and treachery, Gothis was aflame and few on the continent proper had any desire to engage in such an ugly war. Even trusted allies were found wanting, Essalanea had been found wanting. At the moment when their eternal ally was in direst need, the clans had turned inward.

The sons of Essalan had grown wary of involving themselves in unhorsed wars, still bitter at the dishonour they had suffered fighting alongside Andrenne, the prospect of another such conflict was far from appealing. Worse still the clan army was busy putting down an abortive revolt on the steppe, no great charge of Essalanean outriders would be crossing the seas to come to Predice’s aid.



Present-day, the skies above Bellaterra

“Against all the horrors of that red tide you are all we can spare, we shall send you to them, unremarked and unannounced, to make war in the shadows and fill the sons of New Aleman with nightly dread. No help follows you across the waves, you take only the guns you carry and the volunteers who join you. I cannot promise you recognition, you may well die in unknown fields, but whether you fall or triumph know that your glory will live on through the ages”

Helega scanned the tattered note one last time before shoving it into her belt. The letter from Anegrette had laid out in no uncertain terms the consequences of going it alone, the journey to Predice was likely to be a one-way trip. For some, the threat of almost certain death might have been an effective deterrent, but Helega was a trueborn daughter of Essalan. The truth was that death was always certain, the clans were simply better at recognizing this fact thanks to short and harsh lives lived on the inhospitable steppe.

Helega found the prospect of dying gloriously in a great conflict infinitely more appealing than the duller prospects back home. The great conflicts on the steppe had long since given way to petty territorial skirmishes for a professional soldier like Helega, the thought of dying in a spat over cattle or grazing rights was unacceptable.

But it wasn’t just glory that had motivated Helega to commandeer an aging cargo plane and abscond to fight a foreign war. The realization that no forces would be sent to Predice had shocked Helega, it had felt like a cowardly betrayal. To turn their backs on Predice after the nation had given the clans so much and asked so little in return did not sit right with Helega. Thus, the captain of the Kimbri infiltration regiment had decided to take matters into her own hands.

Anegrette, chieftain of the Kimbri and now queen of steppe had agreed to turn a blind eye to Helega’s abscondment with military equipment but had made very clear that this would be a personal war. Politics had blocked any meaningful deployment and so Helega had gathered thirty of the most reckless, cunning and downright insubordinate warriors she could find with the intention to wreak utter havoc.

Even by clan standards the “Night Witches” were considered unorthodox and it was just as well given the sheer insanity of their current plan. The city of Bellaterra was besieged by New Aleman, surrounded by siege works and bombarded day and night by artillery and air strikes, even getting close would require what amounted to a suicide run.

The night skies were alight, the anti-air fire illuminating the gloom with thousands of lethal flashes. The ageing Goyanean cargo plane was barely holding together as glancing flak shots and fierce turbulence shook the insides as though the plane was being throttled by two giant hands. The pilot and the only non-Kimbri aboard, a Falke bondsman named Arved was struggling to keep the plane in the skies as he fought with the steering to keep the battered craft upright.

“We just lost a piece of the wing!” Arved yelled motioning with his head to the burning hole on the planes left wing

“Just as well it’s a one-way trip!” Helega replied with a crazed grin

A loud bang filled the night sky and the plane trembled violently, Helega could feel her bones jarring in their sockets. An ominous red light began to flash on the planes control panel, whatever had struck the plane had done major damage.

“That was our landing gear! We won’t be able to put this bird down without crashing it!” Arved growled from between gritted teeth as he fought with the controls

From the cockpit Helega could now clearly see the city below, they were close now. Trenches and siege works scarred the once verdant landscape, Helega could just make out tiny figures rushing down the long tunnels, they reminded her of ants. If they could just hold it together a few moments longer they could force a landing.

A military airstrip loomed below, Arved began yelling in garbled Predicean as he attempted to alert the forces on the ground to their imminent landing attempt. Moments passed as no reply came, finally, after an agonizing period of silence a reply came in Predicean.

“Volo Essalanean, ti è permesso atterrare, Dio sia con te!”A male voice replied, the static making it barely audible even without the language barrier

“I think that was a yes!” Arved said as the plane began to dive

“Not a moment too soon! This bird doesn’t have much time left!” Helega replied as she strapped herself into a nearby seat

“Everyone hold on tight; this is going to be bumpy!” Arved announced over the planes intercom

“Aye because up until now it's been a serene procession through the clouds!” someone replied sarcastically causing the entire cabin to burst into mad laughter

Helega felt her stomach begin to churn as the plane began its descent, in the main compartment boxes were flying free from their holdings and crashing to the floor, it was amazing luck that no one had been brained. The plane screeched violently as the tortured metal struggled against the winds that threatened to tear it apart.

“Hold on!” Arved yelled

The plane smashed into the ground with a force so tremendous that Helega worried she would be torn from her seat. A horrific sound almost like nails on a chalkboard, but a thousand times louder, followed as the belly of the plane screeched along the runway sending sparks and gravel flying in every direction. Eventually, the plane came to a halt, sirens could be heard growing progressively louder.

Helega groaned audibly and with some effort forced herself to stand, they had survived and baring a few concussions everyone seemed in one piece. She stumbled through the chaos of the inner compartment and with a well-placed kick the planes side door flew off its already mangled hinges. She stood at the entrance and breathed in the night air, it reeked of smoke and fire.

“gather whatever we can salvage and be ready to move! Welcome to Predice!” she announced in a booming voice as her warriors jumped to

They Shall not Pass.

So read the banner at the airfield.
It was one of the few places that sustained the defenders of Bellaterra, along with the city’s vital harbour.
And an Essalanean plane had just ditched itself on the runway of such a vitally important airfield. The airfield commander, visibly agitated ran out of one of the vehicles with several men in order to arrest these ‘saboteurs’.

“Hey what is this shit, ah?! Where is your gear?” The officer barked in anger as he arrived to the stricken plane.

“We got lit up, couldn’t you see?”, one of the Essalaneans barked back.

“Oh shit it’s the Essalaneans, well, my apologies for my rude behaviour, Matteo, why don’t you show them where to go?” the officer then said.

“Pronto, signore!” Matteo said back, and gestured for the Essalaneans to follow him

The Essalaneans quickly began following this young man, who couldn’t have been older than 19 towards the sound of the gunfire, coming from the frontline.

As they ran, they quickly saw that they weren’t going to the front, at least not yet. They made their way over to the motor pool, on the other side of the air field, where several jeeps waited them.

“Take your pick guys”, Matteo began,
“I’ll be riding ahead with a motorcycle. Catch me on the radio.”

The Essalaneans filed into the jeeps and once again began following Matteo, this time on wheels.

“If you look straight ahead, that is Bellaterra, once the largest city in the south.” the Essalaneans heard on the radio.

“This little enclave is surrounded on all sides, except the sea. Has been like that for several weeks now. The only places we can be supplied from are the harbour, and the airfield... which you guys just wrecked. No matter though, they’ll have it back up and running in no time.”, the radio continued.

“If you look at the tracers, you can make out a difference. The Predicean ones are ever so slightly lighter, see if you can make it out.”

“Ah, look at that, just like back home sometimes.”, an Essalanean soldier joked to her comrade, to which her comrades responded with laughter.

“When we make it into Bellaterra, we are going to dismount, since it is more dangerous around there. You all better have your helmets with you, those who do get a cigarette in Bellaterra.” the radio blared again.

“Now, another thing. Since you guys speak Aleman, you guys will probably get the most dangerous infiltration missions, if I had to guess, though honestly speaking, I have no idea. Command’s been all over the place. In any case, you guys will be on the front lines.”

Suddenly, an explosion rang out near them... and then another, and another.

“Shit, artillery! Okay, change of plans, everybody out! Something must have spotted us. We’ll make our way to Bellaterra on foot, so we’re less conspicuous.”

Everyone quickly filed out of the vehicles, and gathered what they could out of the vehicles, and assembled together.

“Okay, everyone’s nice and healthy? Let’s spread out and make the rest of the way over on foot. We’ll make it by dawn.” Matteo said to the Essalaneans.

“The tour will continue from there.” he finished.

“Who are you anyway?” one of the Essalaneans asked.

“My apologies, I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Caporale Matteo, and I have been assigned to show you guys around. Now, let’s go, before the New Alemaners learn to aim.”

Everyone was in agreement with that proposal, nobody wanted to be turned into some pink goo splattered onto the ground, so they got going.

Matteo then said “Now for your troubles, here take a cigarette.”, while holding a pack of cigarettes as the women got going.

The Essalaneans took him up on it, and soon the pack was empty and the Essalaneans were less angry about losing their transport, though only marginally.

April 12th New Aleman Army High Command

"How the fuck did the Prediceans manage to lock down almost every frontline we have? We pushed them from the border all the way to Giaffa and Vittoria almost as quickly as we blitzed the border and now it's like we've slammed face-first into an invisible wall!" Marschall Mallwitz shouted.

"We caught them off guard but they've since then consolidated. we're no longer fighting stationed units and reservists and border guards, we've run up against their mobilized forces, any units we didn't destroy or force to surrender have also retreated and merged into those lines. And they have the advantage of it not only being home soil but said home soil is supremely defensible. They have that huge spine of mountains cutting our forces in half and it makes the frontlines narrow. Modern maneuver tactics are a morbid joke in terrain like this." Armeegeneral Rorer calmly replied and continued.

"Paradrops are also useless. Paratroopers without support just become statistics. In my lines at Giaffa's rural area, they can't make breakouts, and we can't make breakthroughs to get to them. They land in the Predicean countryside and the countryside starts speaking Predicean. I'm not sure if they're valid or not but I've gotten reports of two different paratroopers getting stuck in trees and some old fart comes along with a pitchfork and just stabs them. Different trees, same old man, same shit covered pitchfork."

"What do you need to be able to make breakthroughs in Predice Minor?" Mallwitz looked at her.

"Simply? More of everything. the Prediceans have the advantage of being able to dig in with the intent to stay. we bomb them with artillery and JDAMs they just piss out of the area and fill the gap back in as our armor and mechanized roll in. Our ability to deny them areas and fortifications is limited outside of continuous bombing. having Bellaterra capitulate and Jürgens command link up with mine would give us added punch. Aside from direct action.. infiltration and special forces to disrupt key targets."

Mallwitz nodded. "You'll get your special forces, use them wisely. and it seems like forcing the Bellaterra hold-out to break is our goal... I am authorizing the use of chemical and incendiary weapons on Predicean targets in all sectors, do what you have to do to make ground. I want the navy and airforce to choke the life out of Bellaterra's ports. if it floats sink it, clog the waterways and the piers with wreckage bodies and burning oil. I want warehouses reduced to ash and shrapnel. 'They shall not pass' has become a battle cry for Prediceans in Bellaterra. We will show them that we do not need to pass to win the battle. if there will be no surrender, there will be no escape. Turn Bellaterra into the city of the dead. Dismissed."

---

April 13th, The fields of Bellaterra

Aleman artillery furiously pounded into the Predicean lines with renewed vigor and force, and for the first time, the city itself had become a target to be mercilessly shelled. The intensity of the massed artillery reaching new heights of intensity unseen in the war so far. This wasn't just creeping barrages in preparation for an attack, this is deliberate annihilation. Half an hour went by and just when the guns seemed to finally go quiet their rhythmic thundering began again. As quick as the artillery started up again it ended and out from the craters came colorless mist. Gas! As the gas spreads across the lines Aleman tanks and mechanized infantry quickly rolled forward across no man's land.

Sven loaded his rifle as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was nervous facing the Prediceans directly again. he had done it several times before already and had already taken a few lives. It was strangely getting easier each time but he still found his hands shaking, the shakes only seem to stop when the shooting starts. "Masks on!" Timon, the squad leader shouted. Sven woke from his thoughts and secured his mask. soon the APC stopped "Go go go!" The soldiers rushed out as the doors opened mounting bayonets to the barrels of their rifles as they ran ahead of the armored column which fired over their heads at anything that moved.

Sven and his comrades got to the Predicean trench sweeping down into it with the barrels of their automatic rifles expecting a fight, only to find the trench eerily empty and quiet save for the dead and the cries of the dying. "Oh God..." A sense of deep dread crept into the forefront of Sven's mind as he jumped down into the trench looking over the bodies. He called to his comrades. "Do not let them suffer!" Sven proceeded down the trench a few more paces as the soldiers went about clearing survivors. His eyes locked onto a Predicean dying from the gas. He slowly crouched over the man, his mask hiding his solemn face, Sven spoke in fluent but accented Predicean. "I am sorry, I cannot save you." He brought his bayonet down into the Prediceans chest and twisted making it as quick as possible.

With the forward line taken, now it was time to brace for an inevitable counterattack.

“Get up and get ready. We will be reaching Predice in 15 minutes. Follow the plans as they have been briefed to you. If you forget for some reason you can ask one of our 35 lovely armed soldiers that accompany us on our journey. May Tet watch over you as you do his bidding.” cracked the intercom on a Faltsish civilian cargo ship commandeered by the Faltsish military for this specific purpose. “Operation Green Heart” as it is called in Mercanti, sent 250 humanitarian workers including 35 soldiers armed with M1993 Assault Rifles and Möller PP sidearms. The soldiers were wearing the normal (yet pretty outdated) solid olive green Faltsish military uniform, but with bright red helmets and patrol caps to signify their IFRHS status. 15 minutes later, the cargo ship docked at Porto Embro. A staircase was brought over to the side of the ship, and the captain of the ship and six other staff including two armed guards stepped down the stairs and met with a few Predician government officials. The government officials briefed the Faltsish volunteers on what they’re going to do while in the region of Nord. The cargo of humanitarian supplies plus some extra small-arms ammunition for the 35 Faltsish soldiers was offloaded from the cargo ship and was stored at the port. This was the first time in many years that Faltsu had done a mission overseas, so traveling to a foregin place was slightly nerve-racking for both the soldiers, and humanitarian workers. The soldiers were instructed to avoid combat at all possible, which shouldn’t be hard considering they wouldn’t be going anywhere near the frontline. But they were always at the ready just in case. All of the persons sent over to Predice spoke fluent Mercanti, so communicating was not that big of an issue for them. All persons would be staying at Predician lodging, whose cost will be taken care of by the Faltsish government.

Chapter Two: Little Fritz

20th April

Fields of Bellaterra



If there was one thing about this war that Helega was growing to hate it was the rain, it had been incessant since the hostilities had started. The trenches around the city had quickly begun to resemble a network of flooded canals as the stormwater began to rise. And with the rain came three terrible guests, mud, disease and rats, the infirmaries in Bellaterra were already overflowing with cases of fever and trench foot.

“At least Kosada was dry” Helega muttered irritably as they made their way through the trenches, boots squelching in the mud as they struggled forward

The war had ground into a stalemate, the rapid gains New Aleman had made at the start of the war halted by the stubborn defence of Bellaterra. The Prediceans had adopted the motto of “They shall not pass” and every day they expended lives and ammunition to fulfil that promise. What had once been a lightning charge across the countryside had now degenerated into an ugly game of attrition in which both sides tried to whittle down their opponent before they themselves became depleted.

So far neither side had gained much of anything save for casualties and supply shortages. Attempts to break the stalemate had only made things uglier still as the fields were showered with toxic gas and an endless rain of artillery shells. The once green fields of Bellaterra were now pockmarked wastelands of barbed wire, craters and rotting bodies.

There was no easy victory to be claimed here, the defenders could only try and stem the red tide long enough for relief to deliver them, assuming any relief was actually coming. For their part the Night Witches had sought to harass and hinder the invaders at every turn, snipers kept infantry pinned down for days at a time, tanks fell prey to the mines and booby traps the kimbri had littered across the sector and the nighttime infiltrations struck fear into the Alemaner. But even so, they were but 30 against untold thousands, a painful thorn in the lion's foot but no threat to its life.

“What's the status on our wounded?” Helega asked Kagunda as they ducked to avoid debris from a nearby explosion

“Receva is half-blind from mustard gas and Heva probably won’t make it through the next week given how badly her lungs got burned, Chloda passed away this morning from the wounds she got from that damn shelling,” Kagunda said her voice filled with anger and strain

Gas, napalm and shelling, this was a conflict without boundaries or mercy, there was little chance for a warrior's death when you could be obliterated by an enemy mile away. Almost in answer to their discussion, a distant flash lit the morning gloom, followed by a thundering screech. The two Essalanean’s slammed themselves against the wall as a nearby section of the trench disappeared in a cloud of smoke and fire. When they hauled themselves up, they were greeted by silence and corpses.

“Ziu damn it!” Kagunda growled as she wiped a fresh layer of mud from her face

“That shot came from their forward artillery positions, they’ve been pounding this sector for weeks, the big gun is called “Little Fritz” evidently the Alemaners thought the irony was funny” Helega observed as she stared at the distance

“There won't be a city left to defend at this rate!” Kagunda said angrily “We haven't been able to get within a hundred yards of that thing probably would need a whole division” she muttered grimly

“Or a small force that knew how to navigate no man's land at night” Helega replied with a smirk

“What are you saying Lega?”

“I'm going to speak with the Predicean’s, we’re going to need some “local” clothing for tonight's raid,” Helega said cryptically



Later that night

New Aleman forward artillery base



Kagilda scanned the green haze through her night vision, the sky was alight with the glow of tracer fire and the air reeked of burnt metal and smoke, Kagilda could still smell it even with her gas mask on. Her partner Geva was presently cutting through the barbed fire separating them from their target, it was delicate work, especially when the enemy was constantly scanning the darkness with searchlights.

“That's the last of them” Geva hissed in a satisfied tone as the last row of wire was snipped

Geva had done a meticulous job, the wires had all been neatly separated and in the darkness, all but the most eagle-eyed sentry would notice the newly made hole in the perimeter. Geva was an interesting choice for a partner, she was the youngest of the witches and relatively untested by the standards of the unit.

Most of the Kimbri had served In the Karg war and later at Kosada, Geva though had only recently graduated from the special forces program organized by a mix of Essalanean, Norsian and Predicean instructors. Geva had been trained to a standard higher than most, but she was still green as northern steppe grass, Kagilda hoped that wouldn’t get in the way.

“Okay good, now you remember the plan?” Kagilda asked

“We keep low, say as little as possible and make for the big gun, dispose of the crew, plant the charges and vanish” Geva replied in a tone that was perhaps a little too excited

Kagilda nodded in approval but inside her mask she was frowning, missions like this were rarely straightforward affairs and they almost never went exactly to plan. It wouldn’t take much for the whole mad scheme to be literally and metaphorically shot full of holes, still if they wanted to hurt the Alemaner’s they would have to take the risk.

“Now remember, no unnecessary killing, time enough for that when we reach the gun, keep your knife hidden and don’t start shooting till we are ready to hit little Fritz” Kagilda said as she checked her weapons one last time

The two Kimbri crawled across the blanket that Geva had laid over the cut wires, once they reached the trench they checked for any onlookers before dropping in. They removed their masks and stowed them in the bulky greatcoats that the Prediceans had provided. The Alemaner uniforms were bulky and ill-fitting on the Kimbri frames, but they created a convincing enough illusion from a distance.

They made their way down the long snaking paths of the trench line, boots squelching on mud and tapping on boards as they made their way toward the artillery emplacements. They passed countless dugouts filled with shivering and miserable looking soldiers, most just stared out with dead eyes barely noticing their passing.

The Alemaner trenches were in little better condition than the Predicean’s, same damp air that never dried and the same stink of disease and misery that lingered in everything. Occasionally they would pass men eating meagre rations or making calls to loved ones on personal phones, in those instances there was always the same greeting repeated in almost robotic frequency.

“Glory to the revolution sisters” they would say

“Glory to the revolution brothers” Kagilda would reply trying to keep her accent from becoming too apparent

Eventually, they came to an intersection in the trench, a sign pinned to the trench wall pointed to the gun emplacements. Little Fritz was just up ahead and its terrible barrel was visible as it lit the night sky with roaring salvos. As they made their way toward the gun a young Aleman soldier passed them, he gave the same greeting as the others.

“Glory to the revolution sisters!” he said in a surprisingly enthusiastic voice

“Glory to the Revolution Brother!” Geva replied her voice loud and full of the guttural accents of Sudengots

The soldier stopped and regarded the two women with a curious look, evidently, Geva’s reply had seemed off.

“That is an odd accent sister, where are you from?”

“Seehafen!” Kagilda replied trying to sound as natural as possible

The man didn’t reply, his expression was still quizzical, he opened his mouth to say something only to be cut off by a deafening bang. A cloud of smoke and fire illuminated the darkness like a new sun, alarms screeched into life as men, sometimes half-dressed, bolted from their dugouts with their guns raised. The soldier turned instinctively and rushed off in the direction of the alarm.

“Not a moment too soon! Next time let me do the talking!” Kagilda hissed irritably as they ran toward the gun

When Helega had declared that the witches would detonate one of the enemy's ammo depots Kagilda had been apprehensive to say the least, even getting the timing right would be a challenge. However, somehow their comrades had pulled off that daring act of sabotage, now it was up to Kagilda and Geva to do their part. They leaned against the wall and observed the emplacement ahead.

“Two guards and 8 crew, we take out the two at the entrance and then deal with the rest!” Kagilda whispered.

It was a monstrous weapon, the barrel jutting into the air like some nightmarish snout, every blast echoed across the horizon with deafening force. “Little Fritz” the hated gun that had killed so many was just as terrible a sight up close. Tonight, though the witches intended to silence its roar for good.

They dropped their greatcoats and drew their long knives, blackened by boot polish to prevent glare in the shadows. Like the proverbial adder that was the clan's totem, they crept toward the guards at the entrance in total silence. With two practised movements both guards were grabbed from behind and stabbed with lethal precision. The razor-sharp blades thrust with vicious strikes into the necks and then kidneys of the guards. The unfortunate soldiers didn’t even have time to scream as they died choking on their own blood.

Reaching for her submachine gun Kagilda took aim and fired several well-aimed bursts at the gun crew, they were quickly mowed down by the Kimbri’s deadly aim. Geva moved in with her pistol and made sure the crew were dead with well-placed shots to the head. Kagilda scanned the area, for the moment they were alone, but the distraction would only hold the enemy's attention for a short time.

Geva was already working, planting explosives along the frame of the gun and setting the timers, they would not have long before the explosion ripped through the trench. Pressing down on the activation keys, Geva nodded to Kagilda, it was time to make themselves scarce. The two women rushed through the trench and back to their entry point. The enemy was in disarray as soldiers rushed back and forth with their weapons drawn, evidently, the distraction had been taken as a potential attack.

They climbed over the trench wall and crawled away from the trench perimeter; the mud clung to them as they inched away from the Alemaner line at pace. They took cover in a nearby crater and put their gas masks on, the journey back to Predicean lines would be perilous, especially now they had kicked the hornets' nest.

The ground shook as a thundering explosion tore through the already cacophonous night air, a plume of flame shot up from where little fritz had been firing. Debris was raining down on the trench line as pieces of the gun flew into the air and crashed into the mud below. Geva was grinning like an idiot as she watched the emplacement burn, her first victory.

"For Chloda" Geva said whispering her fallen comrade's name, it was an old steppe tradition, bringing glory to the dead by fighting in their name

Kagilda simply nodded in approval, it was a start but more horrors awaited and she suspected the Alemaners would be harder to deceive in the future. Like ghosts, they silently made their way back to their own lines leaving no trace of their presence save for the destruction and death that they had sown in the enemy trench.

Chapter three: Embracing the night

June 15th

Bellaterra


Helega lay slumped in the corner of the room, the accumulated exhaustion of weeks in the field had finally hit her when her unit had been ordered back from the front for much needed respite. The cities command had billeted the night witches in an abandoned hostel on the edge of the city centre, one of the few buildings that hadn't been reduced to smoking rubble. The rumble of artillery outside was constant, where the Alemaners had once tried to take Bellaterra with lightning speed, now instead sought to bomb the city into submission.

Inside the hostel’s common room, the essalanean’s busied themselves with the few forms of recreation available in a warzone. Some drank, others ate, some just sat and tried to catch what little sleep they could. Geva was presently strumming a four-string with a gentle hand, a soft melody filled the background as she played, an old steppe ballad soothing ears that had grown too accustomed to gunfire and explosions.

There was little light in the common room, lights across the city were subject to strict blackout orders and electricity was unreliable at best thanks to the shelling. Instead, gas lanterns kept the room illuminated, however dimly and the women of the night witches contented themselves with flameless ration heaters for their cooking. The smell of grilling luncheon meat filled the air, say what you would about the unhorsed but their rations certainly beat eating roots and steppe rodents.

The ground shook as an explosion went off outside, dust fell from the ceiling as the impact rocked the walls of the building. The shelling had lately intensified as the Alemaners brought up more and more ordinance, Bellaterra would likely be a crater by wars end, assuming anyone in the city was still alive to call it that. Helega looked up to see her second Kagunda stroll into view, the woman was wearing nothing save combat boots and a dressing gown that had almost certainly been pilfered from the enemy.

“Thank Ziu the showers still work, that layer of mud was getting so hard I was beginning to think I'd need a pickaxe to get it off,” Kagunda said as she took a seat on the floor next to Helega

“Well enjoy it while you can, we will be heading back to the front the day after tomorrow” Helega replied grimly

“Buzzkill” Kagunda shot back with a look of mock offence

“Someone has to be,” Helega said with a shrug

“So, are you going to open that damn envelope or what?” Kagunda asked in a prodding voice

The envelope in question was a bulky tan thing with a rather inconspicuous wax seal on the front, the symbol of the Predicean army. Helega sighed and opened it, a large certificate slid out, it was written in Sudengots and Predicean and read “commissione al grado di colonnello” marking the official recognition of the night witches as part of the Predicean armed forces.

“So, what's all that mean?” Kagunda asked, clearly unable to read either language

“They made me a colonel and seconded us to the Predicean command,” Helega said simply

“congratulations” Kagunda exclaimed with a beaming smile


“A fat lot of good it will do against the enemy unless they expect me to wave it at them!” Helega replied irritably

“Never know it might just work, it’s the thought that counts after all” Kagunda said with a smirk

“This counts for nothing Gunda, it changes nothing, we are still surrounded and facing annihilation, the only thing that matters is that we keep killing those grey bastards!” Helega snapped angrily

Killing the night witches knew how to do, they had gotten especially creative in the weeks since their arrival. Not a day went by that an enemy patrol didn’t get wiped out by snipers or suffer horrendous casualties' courtesy of booby-trapped corpses. The night witches knew they were but a small part of a wider struggle, but they also knew how to make the most of their skillset, fear and stealth were potent weapons in the war of attrition.

“Well, they are getting more desperate by the day, they’ve been gassing Predicean lines for weeks, whole force got wiped out just the other day” Kagunda ominously said after a long pause

“We need to capitalize on that, keep them tied up in endless skirmishes” Helega replied in an excited tone

“Assuming we can hold them at all,” Kagunda said matter-factly

“You know it's funny” Helega began before pausing

“What is?” Kagunda asked in an unsure voice

“I was at Neuanfang, saw the rubble and the bodies and told myself that was the worst sight I would ever see, well then Kosada came along and after seeing a city reduced to dust, I was convinced that was as bad as war could get and now? Here I am, fighting in yet wasteland of ruins and corpses that makes Kosada look like a feast day scrap, and the worst part is, each time I see something worse I just keep going forward.” Helega said in a weary but oddly amused voice

“Doesn't sound funny” Kagunda replied with a frown

“But it is, we try to hide our actions behind the guise of honour and glory, but the truth is we are just as bad as the unhorsed, know what the difference is?” Helega asked cryptically

“No, enlighten me,” Kagunda said bluntly

“We enjoy it more, it's dirty and cruel and we love it all the same. So, the funny thing is this, we really are the monsters that the Alemaners think we are” Helega said a terrifying grin crossing her features

“So, what are you saying boss?” Kagunda exclaimed tiredly

“That when we get back to the front, we are going to show the Alemaners such horrors that they will tremble at every step they take forward, we are going to live up to the name they gave us” Helega replied, her eyes were cold even though her face was locked in a smile and there could be no doubt that she truly meant what she said.

The artillery continued to rumble outside, but Kagunda was now less spooked by the roar of gunfire than she was by the unbridled horrors her colonel planned to inflict upon the enemy.

June 16th, 2021
“Benvenuti a Bellaterra all’inferno”

The Army Command at Bellaterra had been standing its ground for far longer than anyone expected. Despite everything that the New Alemaners threw at it, the city held strong.
Predicean artillery still roared in response to every New Alemaner barrage, and every attack faced a vicious and desperate counter attack.

In the western Bellaterra suburb of San Sebastiano, a composite force of Predicean troops prepared to launch another counter attack. Here, some of the last great lumbering beasts in the city, the last C-6s, prepared to punish the New Alemaners for an attack they had made earlier in the day. The C-6 had built quite a reputation in the New Alemaner ranks. Indeed, there was little in the New Alemaner arsenal that could knock them out, from the front anyway. Despite this fact though, they weren’t invincible, and most of the C-6 complement had be lost. These last few tanks would spearhead one of the largest Predicean attacks since spring.

Predicean infantry began to load into their armoured vehicles, and the formation began to move. A young corporal Matteo was among the infantrymen that entered their vehicles.
Inside his vehicle was a senior NCO, telling them something about gas masks. Matteo didn’t care to listen, he had heard the same shit over and over again for weeks now. The usual order of trying on the gas mask just in case came. Matteo complied, as did all the other men.
The NCO then barked: “Excellent. Now keep them on.”
“Come on—...” Matteo attempted to protest but was quickly cut off.
“Shut the fuck up. Now, this is it. We are heading to destroy New Alemaner forces in the trenches they took yesterday. Do not leave the vehicle until I tell you to, lest you become a friendly fire statistic. Our guns will try to blast them as best as they can, but considering that they’re artillerymen, don’t take their efforts too seriously.” A slight bit of laughter broke out among the men before the Senior NCO continued: “Now, let your motto be ‘KILL KILL KILL KILL THE FRITZ’. Make them fear us, show them that their tactics are failing, and that we will never leave this, city, our beloved. Let them see the devil, for they have awoken it. Welcome them to hell, not Bellaterra.”
The men cheered, as did Matteo.
“Now boys, fix bayonets. We are almost there.”
Outside, the C-6s were already beginning to take fire, mostly brushing the hits off.
As the formation got closer, the infantry began to exit their vehicles, with cries of “Avanti!” The Predicean infantry charged forward, and threw themselves into the trench.

The few New Alemaners, that managed to escape, reported scenes of immense brutality to their superiors, with Predicean soldiers mercilessly killing all New Alemaners they could find.
These reports were true. This time, the Prediceans showed no mercy, riled up by officers and NCOs, and with their own burning hate, they brought hell to the New Alemaners. Matteo was no exception.

By the evening, the trench was clear, and a new precedent was set. The New Alemaners could no longer expect quarter.
The white flag of surrender had now been burned by both sides.