Days Gone By Chapter 9

…smoke and dust choked the air as we made our way in, the reports of rifle and cannon echoing through the city as the decoy forces made their stand, pulling as much of the Empire's focus as they could.  Barely trained and armed with weapons scarcely a match for their crimson-armored counterparts, they fought like heroes, buying us time to break the back of the occupation.  Time paid for in blood, suffering, and lives.

-Ch. 2, The River of Vasel, Days Gone By: A Memoir of the Gallian Front

Chapter Nine

The west side of Vasel was a carcass, its guts a conflagration of burnt out or bombed out buildings.. The skeletons of cars and bus strops leaned over the street like mourners, as rubble choked every alley. Smoke curled through broken windows, and the stink of war hung in the air like rotting meat and burned steel.

We moved under it, around it, through it. Five shadows in formation. Five knives aimed at the spine of the Imperial line.

"Four hostiles. Shock troopers. Ahead, next alley," Juno's voice cracked through the radio, low and exact.

I blinked once. "Take them."

We flowed into action without a breath wasted. I veered left across broken stone, boots gliding silent. Jane and Wendy swept right. Marina climbed like smoke through a shattered window above. Juno stayed in the pocket, central, steady, guiding.

The first Imperial's death was clean. My knife slid into the joint below the armplate, angled up into the lungs. He spasmed. I wrenched the blade free and moved on.

A short burst snapped from Wendy's suppressed rifle. The second trooper spun as three rounds caught his upper chest, plate cratering, blood speckling the wall behind him. He slumped where he stood.

Jane's target barely made a noise. Her entrenching tool cleaved down like an axe, catching the man across the temple with a wet, cracking thunk, her wild enthusiasm and glee etched onto her face. The shovel blade made a squelching sound as she pulled it loose, wiping the blood off on the dead man's tunic.

The fourth started to run.

Marina's rifle barked once. His neck opened like a slit pouch and he collapsed into a shallow puddle, arms twitching.

"Clear," I said.

No one answered, but everyone moved.

Our boots crossed scorched pavement. Nearby, the racket of a heavy firefight roared. Gallian militia, green but determined, were caught in a crossfire. I caught a glimpse through a shattered shopfront. An entire fireteam pinned behind a flipped cart. An Imperial squad advancing on them.

"Engage," I ordered.

We split without hesitation. Wendy dropped to prone and fired twice, both shots cracking skulls. Jane and I flanked wide. I came in hard from behind a sandbag wall, buried my blade in the back of a sergeant's throat, and shoved him forward into his own men. Confusion erupted. Jane hit them like a hammer, the butt of her rifle stunning the man. She brought it up and put three almost point blank into his sternum, and he gurgled, clutching at her as he fell.

A militia trooper peeked up from the cart, eyes wide. I gave him a quick nod before we melted back into the alleys.

No time for thanks. No time for hesitation. The plan came first.

"Next route east.  Two sentries on the tramline," Juno whispered through the radio's crackle.

"Jane. Wendy. Right flank. Go," I ordered.

They moved in sync, Jane vanishing into a crumbled stairwell, Wendy ghosting between shell craters. I took the center. We converged on the sentries from three sides.

The first dropped from a round that clipped his cheek and tunneled through his jaw. The second barely turned before Jane's arms were around him, dragging him back. Her blade plunged up under the chin. His body went limp in silence. Wendy held back, keeping watch as Marina and Juno followed up.

We moved on. No pause. No words.

The world behind us churned. Machine guns screamed. The Edelweiss's main gun boomed like thunder somewhere close. Screams, the whine of ricochets, the roar of fire. The city was a furnace, and we were deep in the coals.

Next contact was a four man squad around a makeshift barricade.

"Building right side, second story. Clear shot," Marina said, already slipping into the high ground, up a stairway of rubble.

"Take it."

Her first round hit the man in the center through the eye socket. The others scattered, confused. Second shot dropped another mid-step. Jane and Wendy swept around the side. I came up the middle, one hand on the grip of the StG, the other still damp with blood.

The last two didn't make it ten meters. One took a burst in the ribs and staggered back, already dead before he hit the ground. The other turned just in time to catch Jane's blade in the chest. She twisted it once, yanked free, and walked on.

"Perimeter ahead," Juno said. "Signal strength is increasing. We're getting close."

I nodded, even if no one could see me. My team was calm. Efficient. Quiet.

We hit another alley. This one was filled with smoke and the flickering light of fire. A lone Imperial engineer was hunkered behind a tank trap, repairing a comms line.

"Solo contact. Marked," Marina said.

"Silence him."

A single shot ended him. He slumped forward onto his work, mouth agape. We stepped over the body and vanished into the street beyond.

We moved like smoke, silent and curling between the broken ribs of the city.

The ruined alley spit us out into the shell of a warehouse, one wall collapsed, the other two scorched black. Gunfire cracked just ahead, sharp, methodical and constant. Not wild, though. Controlled. That told me everything.

I motioned the team to a halt, one fist up, then pointed through the blasted window. Five Gallian scouts, barely more than kids, were huddled behind the jagged spine of a collapsed wall. One had a blood-soaked sleeve tied tight with a field dressing. Another fumbled to reload a bolt-action with trembling hands. They weren't firing. They were pinned.

Across the narrow plaza, three Imperial shock troopers took turns laying down suppressive bursts, their position reinforced by sandbags and a crumpled bench turned cover. Behind them, a fourth figure loomed. An Imperial Lancer. Not with an anti-tank rocket this time, but a mortar-fitted lance slung over his shoulder, angling upward for a lob shot.

Wendy saw him just as I did. "He's gonna drop that shell right on them," she whispered.

"Not if we move first," I said. "On me."

No argument. Just movement.

We slipped along the wall, boots hushed by dust, breath tight. I angled toward the right, Wendy flanking left, Jane right behind. Marina and Juno covered our rear. No time for hesitation. Just blood and motion.

The first Imp never saw me coming. His face was pale, his eyes squinting down the sights. My knife punched through his throat before he could blink. He choked on steel and toppled into the dirt with barely a sound.

Jane dropped the next with a burst from her suppressed StG, the rounds chewing through his side as he turned. The third tried to spin toward the noise—too slow. Wendy's knife went in under his ribs, and she pushed hard, twisting until he folded like a puppet with cut strings.

The Lancer realized too late. He turned, mortar still unshouldered, mouth opening to shout a warning that never came. I was already there. I saw the boy's reflection in the glint of the Lancer's goggles. A young Gallian scout, no older than sixteen, peeking over the wall just in time to watch me drive my knife through the man's eye. Steel met skull. He shuddered once, then crumpled.

I yanked the blade free and turned back.

"Clear," I said.

The scouts stared. I didn't speak to them. No time. No space for that. Just a nod, and then we vanished back into the wreckage, the city swallowing us once more.

The outskirts of the plaza came into view a few minutes later. The buildings towered like old bones, half their windows blasted out, soot curling up their flanks. In the distance, the chatter of machineguns echoed, sharp and panicked. Gallian radio lines were full of static and desperate calls. They were holding, but only just.

We paused at a broken wall near a split in the street. The overwatch building loomed nearby, it's frame solid enough, with an intact roof and good vantage. It would do.

Marina checked her rifle, already slinging the GSR over one shoulder. Juno wordlessly adjusted the heavy comms pack across her back, her jaw clenched.

"Alright," I said, voice low. "This is it. Jane, Wendy, you're with me. Juno, Marina, you're our eyes. I want confirmation on that tower the moment you get a clean line."

Juno nodded, her dark eyes on mine, steady and sure. "We'll call it in."

Jane looked at the blond, the tight lines at her eyes betraying the fire in her gut. "Don't get shot, huh? I don't wanna have to carry you out."

She snorted. "Same to you."

Marina stepped forward, just slightly, her voice soft but steady. "We'll keep the net open. If it moves, we'll see it."

I looked at them each in turn, letting my gaze settle. "No mistakes. No hesitation. Be silent. Be deadly, and remember, we all go home or nobody goes home."

That silence after, tight, taut, full of the weight of what was coming, said more than any reply could.

Then we split.  One into the shadow, the other, into the fire.

The plaza was a killbox waiting to happen, but luck favored us in the shape of ruin and rubble. Whole segments of storefronts had collapsed into the avenue, and we hugged the wreckage like phantoms. We took the long way around, slipping through gaps in broken fences and ducking beneath sagging overhangs. Every thirty seconds, I raised a closed fist, and the three of us froze. Eyes up. Ears straining.

Two blocks from our target, Jane caught the sound first.

"Tank. North street. Treads on stone," she whispered.

I signaled for silence. We melted into the shell of a corner shop, keeping low as the rumble of heavy treads grew louder. A patrol of five Imperials marched in formation down the avenue, rifles at the ready. Their expressions were alert. Disciplined. This wasn't some rear-echelon unit dicking around.  They were on the hunt.

Behind them came the tank, an Imperial VK-42 "Spinne". It was a light tank chassis, but with a high-velocity autogun in its turret. The quad-barreled machinegun swiveled, scanning alleys and doorways as it crawled forward like a predator on the hunt.

Wendy pressed herself flat against the wall beside me, eyes wide but steady. She clutched a brick-sized charge to her chest. I reached over and gently pushed her hand down. Not yet.

The patrol paused at the intersection. We were less than ten meters away. The tank's turret turned toward us, and for a heartbeat, I thought it would fire.

But then the commander barked something I didn't hear, and the patrol moved on. The tank followed, rumbling away with a sound like grinding teeth. Jane exhaled slowly. Wendy didn't even breathe.

We cut across to the next street, slipping between burnt-out cars and makeshift barricades. At one point we had to crawl under a collapsed balcony. Rubble scraped my shoulder. Jane muttered a curse when her entrenching tool caught the edge of a loose pipe.

"Next block has a machinegun nest," I said as we regrouped. I had spotted the barrel through a crack in the wall, three men behind sandbags and a belt-fed MG stationed near a half-demolished hotel.

Wendy frowned. "Bypass or clear?"

"Bypass. Not worth the risk. They're focused westward, and they're not expecting us here."

We moved again, slow and careful. Timing our steps with the sounds of distant gunfire, we crept beneath the edge of their arc of fire, using a shattered drainpipe and a collapsed stairwell to duck under their line of sight. Sweat dripped from my brow as we slid along the edge of the street.

By the time we reached the plaza, I could hear it; fighting in the distance, more intense now. Small arms overlapping with the rapid bursts of automatic fire. The heavier thuds of anti-tank shells echoed somewhere beyond the skyline, shaking dust loose from the cracked windows around us.

Jane crouched low behind a twisted fire escape, breathing heavy but steady. Her eyes flicked to mine. She was ready. Wendy knelt beside the base of a support column, checking her wiring out of habit. She didn't need to, but the repetition seemed to help her stay centered.

Juno's voice crackled in my ear. "Overwatch position secured. We have clear visual on the plaza. Two buildings are no-go. Total collapses. You're looking at either northeast or southeast.  No visible relays on either."

"Copy that. Any movement?"

"A few patrols, but no signs of a fortified position yet. Radio traffic is increasing. It's bad out there."

I listened. Our headset was picking up more than just Juno. Fragmented calls bled into the background- Gallian militia reporting tank sightings, requesting backup, screaming about being overrun. I closed my eyes for a second, letting the noise fill the space behind my ribs.

Jane looked up at me. Her expression was tight, jaw clenched hard enough that I could see the muscle working under the skin. "We're on the clock."

Wendy didn't say anything. She was biting the inside of her lip again. Her eyes flicked from one building to the other like she was solving a puzzle under fire.

"Southeast first," I said. "First sweep. Move in tight. Stay low. If they're broadcasting, they're up high."

We started across the plaza.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that rang in your ears. Every step felt like a thunderclap, even though none of us made a sound. The buildings towered above us like gutted monuments, scorched black and coughing ash. The door was still standing, though crooked.

Inside, it was dark. No lights. No voices.

Jane took point. I followed. Wendy covered the rear.

The southeastern apartment building loomed hollow and broken, its ribs of concrete and rebar jutting like bones under skin. We slipped inside through a half-collapsed doorway, weapons raised, boots moving in near-silence across dust and splinters. No one spoke.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, the only light filtering through shattered windows and broken doorframes. We moved in low, rifles up, each footstep a whisper on crumbling tile and torn carpet. It wasn't long before we started seeing the wreckage of lives left behind. Pictures in bent frames. Toys half-melted from fire damage. Furniture knocked over, smashed. Doors kicked in. No sign of fighting, just...clearing. Systematic. Efficient. Imp work.

Bodies came next. Civilians first, collapsed in corners and doorways, some still clutching suitcases or each other. Gallian infantry too. Their uniforms faded and blood-soaked, left to rot in the same filth. One had been propped against the wall with his helmet in his lap, half his face gone. The rot was thick and full, the kind that curled in your gut. Jane turned her head, gave a single dry heave, and lost it all in a quiet mess on the floor.

I moved to her side, hand on her shoulder. "You alright?"

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, nodded once. "I'm fine. Just... caught me off guard."

Wendy didn't say anything. She just reached into her pack and handed out cloth scarves, wrapping one over her own nose and mouth before offering them out. I took one without comment. Jane did too, her face pale and set.

We climbed in silence. The first floor gave way to the second, then the third, then the fourth. Nothing but echoes and rot. The halls bore old gunshot holes and smears of blood dried to a rusty brown. Here and there we found stairs that had caved in or were scorched into ash, forcing detours through gaping holes in the walls or burned-out apartments.

One of those detours took us through a bedroom, the bed still made, two bodies tucked under the sheets like they'd just gone to sleep and never woken up. An old man and woman. Bullet holes in their heads. Execution style. Flies danced over their faces. No one spoke for a while.

Jane's voice broke the silence, low and raw. "Fucking monsters."

Wendy looked over her shoulder, her voice quiet but sharp. "This isn't right. It's barbaric."

Jane gave her a look. "Do you understand why I hate them now?"

Wendy didn't answer. She just tightened her grip on her rifle and pressed forward.

I said nothing. There was nothing worth saying. Another atrocity to file away in the back of my mind. One more notch in the weight pressing down on my chest.

Wendy didn't answer. She just held her weapon a little tighter and nodded once. Her face was pale, but her expression was hardening.

I kept moving. Another corpse. Another tally mark in the nightmare ledger that I stopped counting long ago.

By the time we reached the roof, we were tense from the climb, from the silence, from the dead. The city spread out around us, smoke curling through alleys and over rooftops. From here, we could hear the deeper thuds of artillery echoing through the blocks. The pop of small arms and the distant crack of tank guns were sharper now, overlapping into an ugly rhythm. The push was intensifying.

Juno's voice came through the radio, terse and clipped. "The enemy counterattack is underway.  The distraction squads aren't able to hold. I'm picking up radio traffic from all elements. Squad Three's already taken heavy casualties and Squad Eight's lost its tank commander.  They're splintering!"

Her voice was taut. Not panicked, but the edge was there.

I was raising my hand to respond when Wendy touched my arm and pointed. Her gloved finger aimed just past the lip of the rooftop, toward the far side of the plaza. "There," she said.

I followed her gaze. Nestled in the shadow of a gutted water tower, a segmented black spire rose just high enough to catch the eye if you were looking. Coaxial cables ran from the base, bundled and thick, down to the rooftop across from us, just enough to be hidden unless you had this angle.

"That's the relay," Wendy whispered, her voice tight with excitement, breathless but steady. There was a brightness in her tone that cut straight through the weight pressing on all of us. She pointed across the distance, her hand trembling slightly with adrenaline. "Northeast building. You see the segmented spine on the relay mast? That's Imperial design. And the cables, they're running straight into a room on the third floor."

Even after all we'd witnessed; the rot, the bodies, the quiet ruin of the building beneath us, Wendy's face lit up with something close to pride. I clapped her on the shoulder, giving her a nod, as my eyes followed the cables she pointed out.  We had our target.

I keyed the mic on my radio. "Juno, confirm visual. Tower's in the northeast apartment block. Cables enter a third-floor room. We're moving to intercept."

A few seconds of silence passed before her voice returned, calm and precise. "Confirmed. I've got you on scope. Also seeing increased movement along the interior routes. Imperial squads are peeling off from the outer perimeter. Looks like they've stabilized against the distraction teams. They're reinforcing the choke points. Units Two, Five, and Nine are taking heavy contact."

The distraction was failing. The hammer was starting to fall toward the rest of the line.

I felt my jaw clench. "There's no time to circle back. We move now, or Welkin and the others get buried under a wall of armor."

Wendy stepped up beside me at the edge of the rooftop, her eyes scanning the gap between us and the northeast building. Her confident demeanor flickered, and her mouth tightened.

The jump wasn't short. Five stories up, with a span wide enough to rattle anyone's nerves.

"I don't know about this," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "That's a long damn fall."

Jane came up behind her and slapped her lightly on the back, flashing a crooked grin that was all teeth and nerves. "Come on, Wen. It's nothing worse than those rooftop sprints we ran in training."

Wendy raised an eyebrow, giving Jane a sharp look. "You missed most of those jumps."

Jane laughed, unbothered. "I made the ones that counted, didn't I?"

I didn't speak, just tightening the last of my straps. I checked the weight of my rifle, even as I began to back away from the edge, and took a running start. The rooftop beneath my boots felt solid, the gritty gravel digging under the rubber, as the edge approached. I let out a breath, and threw my body forward as soon as my foot left the ledge.

The air hit me like a wave. Time slowed just enough to feel the drop.

My boots slammed down hard on the opposite rooftop. The concrete cracked under my weight, knees flexing to absorb the landing. Pain shot up my legs, but it held. I straightened and turned back toward the others, raising one arm.

"Go."

Jane took off without hesitation. Her boots struck the rooftop in rapid rhythm, and she launched across with an easy, practiced leap. She landed with a clatter and rose smoothly, brushing a few pebbles from her pants. "Told you. Easy."

Wendy stood at the edge now, her face pale, lips moving in a silent string of words, maybe a formula, maybe a prayer.

Then she ran. Both jane and I saw it the moment she left the edge, though. Not enough of a lead up, not enough force.

Her jump fell short.

She hit the edge of the rooftop hard with her chest, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Her hands scrabbled for grip, fingers clawing into the ledge. Her legs kicked out into the open air.

"Shit-!"

My rifle slammed into my chest as I sprang forward, and caught her under the arms just as her grip gave out. She slammed into me, the momentum nearly dragging us both off the edge. I threw my weight backward, boots skidding, teeth grit against the strain in my shoulders.

We landed in a heap. I let her go the moment she was clear and rolled to my feet, grabbing my rifle, sweeping the rooftop for movement. Subtle that was not.

No shots. No alarm. Nothing but our breathing.

Wendy stayed on her knees, coughing, her scarf askew. Her hands shook, but her grin broke through anyway, crooked and flushed. "Didn't fall five stories. I'm calling that a win."

Jane let out a whistle. "Damn close, though."

Wendy nodded, still catching her breath. "Let's... not make a habit of that."

Jane gave her a quick nudge. "Next time, stick the landing."

Wendy shot her a look but didn't argue. She was still rattled, but she was back on her feet.

I lifted my rifle, checking the chamber, and stepped past the two, my eyes still scanning.

"We're over, now let's get moving. We're on the clock."

The metal handle turned under my gloved fingers without resistance. The rooftop entrance creaked open an inch, but there were no alarms, no chains, no bolts. That alone said everything. The Imps weren't expecting an attack from above. Their attention was aimed outward, likely downward, and that suited our needs just fine. Still, what made infiltration easier now meant exfiltration would be a nightmare later.

I didn't dwell on it. The mission came first.

I slipped through the threshold, my boots light on the concrete floor. Wendy and Jane followed close behind. Jane's eyes were already scanning corners, rifle at the ready, while Wendy kept to my left, her fingers tight around the grip of her weapon. Neither said a word. We were all listening.

Somewhere down the stairwell, I heard them. The muted thump of boots. Voices echoing faintly against the walls. The sound of movement, of men who thought they were safe inside their lines.

I held up a fist, bringing us to a stop. With slow, practiced movement, I slid my rifle behind me and drew my knife instead. The blade felt cold in my hand, grounding.

Wendy followed suit, slinging her weapon and pulling her own blade. Jane kept her rifle, but adjusted her grip. The stairs down to the third floor were blocked by collapsed rubble, but the fourth-floor access was intact. We crept down in silence, every footstep placed with care, every breath measured.

The fourth floor was a wreck of shattered drywall, half-collapsed hallways, and broken doorframes, many of the walls torn up or blown out, and the floor was a rictus of dust, rubble and burned floorboards. Each step was going to be a pain, I could tell, but hopefully none of the damage was severe enough to send any of us through.

We moved in low, shifting around a bend in the hallway, until we spotted the first pair. Two Imperials stood near a broken window, their rifles propped casually nearby. One had his helmet off, fanning himself with a pocket calendar. They were talking about the Gallian push, about how surprised they were. The other laughed, talking about how they came here to fight real soldiers, not farmboys and store clerks. The other said that the Armored Fourth was already rolling them over, like it was a joke, as if it was being handled.

Arrogance. Carelessness. I could work with that.

I glanced at Wendy and gestured. She gave a slight nod and crept up on the right while I mirrored her on the left. The two soldiers never saw us coming. My knife went in clean and deep, under the chin and up through the jaw. His partner had just enough time to flinch before Wendy's blade severed the arteries in his neck. He dropped without a sound.

We caught our breath, wiping the blades clean on the uniforms, then pressed forward.

There were three more within the next series of rooms, all similarly inattentive. They were checking gear, chatting, standing over a broken map table. Not a single one looked up before the knives went in. Silent kills. No shots fired. Just the wet crunch of bone and muscle and the quick death that followed.

Jane moved like a shadow behind us, eyes scanning the hallways, rifle ready if anything went wrong. Her jaw was tight, the tension there beneath her calm. Wendy, by contrast, looked focused, almost oddly calm, as though this kind of work settled her nerves. Me? I had already stopped feeling much of anything. Every kill was just another box checked. Another threat removed.

The halls of the apartment block stank of mildew and smoke, and beneath it all was the copper bite of dried blood. This place had already seen violence. We were just another layer added to it.

We moved deeper, cutting through rooms and shattered doorways, hugging corners, clearing angles. I kept my breathing slow and steady, my mind focused on the rhythm of movement, the spacing of our feet, the echo of the enemy.

There was no room for mistakes. Not here. Not now.

I signaled for Wendy and Jane to halt at the stairwell door leading to the third floor. Pressing my palm flat against the door, I slowly eased it open a crack, just enough to peer into the hallway beyond. A tense silence enveloped us, broken only by faint echoes of distant combat vibrating through the building's cracked walls. Through the narrow slit of the open door, I caught sight of the first Imperial patrol, three soldiers marching down the southern hallway, their heavy footsteps precise and regular, echoing against the bare plaster walls. My heart rate quickened as I silently counted their pace, committing the pattern to memory.

Behind me, Wendy knelt quietly, carefully slipping a small mirror from her gear pouch. She angled it precisely, her movements slow and deliberate, betraying no trace of her earlier nerves. In the polished reflection, the second patrol came into view. Three more Imperials marched along the northern hallway, heading east, moving steadily toward the intersection leading southward. Wendy flashed three fingers, then made a careful gesture. The timing was clear. Both patrols circled in opposite loops, creating a brief window where neither could see the other, a small opening, barely thirty seconds, but enough if we moved with precision.

I nodded silently, motioning to Wendy and Jane to follow. We moved smoothly and silently from the stairwell into the corridor, my pulse racing but my breathing steady. My footsteps were deliberate, boots rolling carefully from heel to toe as I navigated around shattered plaster and fallen debris scattered across the floor. The corridor was narrow and dim, with little daylight filtering through bullet-pocked windows lining one side of the building. Black scorch marks streaked the walls, grim evidence of grenades and gunfire exchanged in the retreat. Each doorway we passed stood ajar, revealing apartments ransacked or hastily abandoned, their contents spilled carelessly onto cracked wooden floors.

We reached the first apartment on the northern side, just before the hallway intersection. Silently slipping inside, we pressed ourselves against the cold, smoke-stained walls, barely breathing. Jane edged carefully to the door, peering through the narrow crack as the second patrol approached. Her face remained calm, eyes intensely focused on her prey. I could hear the steady thud of Imperial boots nearing our position, each step measured and rhythmic, utterly oblivious to our presence.

My muscles tightened, a coiled spring ready to snap into action. As the patrol passed by our doorway, oblivious and unsuspecting, I slipped into the hallway behind the trailing soldier. The man's back filled my vision, the deep red of his combat shirt contrasting sharply beneath the dull steel of his armored breastplate. Without hesitation, I moved swiftly, closing the distance with calculated strides. My left hand grabbed his mouth, silencing any possible cry, while my right plunged the knife deep into the base of his neck, severing nerves and arteries with practiced ease. His body jerked once, violently rigid, then sagged lifelessly against my grip. Carefully, I eased him to the floor, controlling his fall to prevent unnecessary noise.

As soon as I had moved, Jane struck simultaneously, precision and ruthless efficiency guiding every motion. She darted from the apartment doorway, gripping the second soldier's collar and dragging him backward with incredible strength. The man twisted violently, attempting to fight back, his hands clawing desperately for the rifle slung at his side. Before he could call out, Wendy joined Jane, her own knife flashing in the dim corridor light. Her blade found its mark immediately, thrusting between the struggling Imperial's ribs, slipping into the gap in his armor and puncturing his heart. The soldier went rigid, his eyes widening briefly before glazing over, the fight leaving him instantly. The two women quickly dragged him into the apartment, carefully setting him on the floor.

The third soldier, now isolated at the front of the patrol, halted suddenly, sensing the absence of his companions. My heart lurched painfully at the sudden realization that we were out of position, a half-second late. He began to turn, eyes narrowing in suspicion, his mouth opening slightly as if to call out to his missing comrades. Wendy, reacting faster than I had anticipated, leaped from the doorway of the opposite apartment, crossing the hallway in two swift steps. She collided into him, the impact muffled as her knife drove deeply beneath his collarbone, piercing the lung. The soldier managed a choked gasp, the sound partially escaping his lips, louder than I wanted. In a heartbeat, Jane was at Wendy's side, her hand clamped tightly over the Imperial's mouth, stifling any further sound as Wendy twisted her blade. The soldier's eyes bulged briefly, his legs weakening as he crumpled against them.

A breathless silence filled the hall again, heavy and oppressive. My ears strained for any hint of alarm, any sign our presence had been noticed. The seconds ticked by painfully slow, each heartbeat pounding painfully in my chest. But there were no shouts, no running footsteps echoing from below. We remained undetected, at least for the moment.

Swiftly, Wendy and Jane dragged the fallen soldiers into the nearby apartment, arranging their bodies hastily behind the shattered remains of furniture. Blood pooled across the floorboards, a stark reminder of the brutality we had just unleashed. Wendy stared at the crimson stains, breathing heavily, her hands visibly shaking as she wiped her blade clean. Jane noticed Wendy's discomfort, offering her a brief, approving nod, the quiet acknowledgment of a job well done. Wendy steadied herself visibly, nodding back in grim appreciation.

We moved quietly through the northern apartments again, stepping around splintered wood and crumbled drywall. Each room we passed through was a wreck, its contents shredded or scattered from explosions or firefights days old. A dining table lay split in two, dishes and silverware strewn across the floor, some cracked and shattered beneath our boots. In one apartment, a child's stuffed toy sat propped against the remnants of a bookshelf, its button eyes glazed with ash and dust. We pressed past without comment, hearts tight, nerves taut.

Jane led the way through the broken plaster of the connecting walls. Wendy and I followed closely, slipping through holes punched by shells or heavy caliber rounds. As we drew nearer to the northwest corner of the building, the sound of distant combat grew louder, gunfire popping rhythmically beyond the building's walls. No one spoke, our training keeping us silent and alert.

I paused at the wall separating two apartments, where the gap narrowed uncomfortably. The hole was barely wide enough to pass through. Wendy edged ahead, knife at the ready, peeking cautiously into the corridor beyond. She glanced back, signaling it clear. I moved through after her, Jane right behind. We took positions inside a trashed living room, our backs pressed flat against walls blistered by fire and pocked by bullets.

Through the broken slats of a window, I spotted the next patrol approaching, their shadows moving steadily along the west hallway. Three men in red combat fatigues and polished steel armor appeared, their steps measured, cautious but not alarmed. They held their rifles loosely, not expecting trouble here, behind their lines. I motioned silently, and Jane picked up a piece of debris, a broken lamp base charred and cracked from some past explosion, and took aim. We waited, breath held, as the patrol drew near the midpoint of the hall.

With careful timing, Jane tossed the lamp base lightly across the hallway. It landed softly in the doorway of an opposite apartment, clattering faintly against the wooden doorframe. The lead soldier immediately froze, raising one hand to signal the halt. He cocked his head, leaning cautiously toward the source of the sound. His companions halted behind him, exchanging glances, weapons raised now, alert but not panicked.

I counted silently to three, then lunged from the shadows, moving swiftly and quietly. My boots barely touched the warped flooring as I closed the distance. I reached the front soldier just as he turned his head fully toward the doorway. My arm looped around his neck, dragging him backward into a recessed alcove off the hall. His eyes widened in shock, a startled breath escaping his lips, quickly silenced as I plunged my knife upward beneath his jaw. The blade punched cleanly into his brain. His body went limp in my grasp instantly, deadweight that I eased slowly to the ground without noise.

I took a slow breath, holding it in as the corridor fell back into oppressive silence. The two guards stood just beyond us, oblivious to the violence that had claimed their companions only moments before. They were alert but relaxed, the tension in their bodies minimal. One watched carefully down the west side of the corridor, the other faced eastward, unaware of the shadows approaching from their blind spots. I made a quick series of gestures, signaling Jane and Wendy to get ready. Our next moves needed to be swift, ruthless, and perfectly coordinated.

We moved as one, our footfalls ghosting over the bloodstained floors. I charged forward first, accelerating into a full sprint in just a few silent strides. The guard facing east had only begun to turn toward me when I slammed into him, my shoulder driving squarely into his chest plate. He staggered back against the wall with a gasp, eyes widening in shock behind the faceplate of his helmet. My left hand clamped down over his mouth, muffling his startled cry even as my right hand thrust the knife upward beneath his breastplate. The steel bit deeply, cutting through muscle and bone until it punctured his lung. His body jerked violently once, the scream dying in his throat as I twisted the blade and wrenched it free. Blood spilled warmly onto my gloves, soaking through the fabric, slick and vivid. I held him steady as his strength drained away, guiding him down to the floor with careful control.

At the same moment, Wendy struck from behind the other guard, coming from the east side of the hallway. He barely had time to register the commotion before her knife flashed, burying itself deep into the side of his neck just above the armored collar. He fell forward, hitting the floor with a soft, wet thud. Jane was already moving, her hands hooking beneath the guard's arms, Wendy helping to quickly drag the corpse out of sight. Together they hauled the bodies toward an adjacent closet, the sound of armor scraping against the worn floorboards sharp and grating in the silence. I moved quickly to help them, shifting the dead weight with practiced ease. The bodies disappeared into the cramped darkness of the storage space, limbs twisted awkwardly, eyes staring blankly at nothing.

I turned back to the target apartment's door, assessing it quickly. The heavy wooden door was locked, and it would make too much noise to kick open. Jane stepped up, giving me a sly grin as she produced a lockpick set from one of her pockets, her fingers deftly manipulating the tumblers inside. Quickly, silently, she heard a soft click of the bolt releasing, and stepped back.

I twisted the handle, the door opening with a muffled creak. I glanced at the others for a moment, getting firm nods from both, and I pushed in. I led the entry, pistol in hand, scanning rapidly left and right as I moved into the room.

Inside the room, four faces turned sharply toward us. An Imperial officer stood near the center of the room, his gloved hand reaching instinctively for his sidearm as recognition of the situation dawned on his face. My pistol barked twice, the suppressed shots snapping in the small room. Both rounds struck him squarely in the chest, knocking him backward against the wall. He crumpled to the floor, leaving streaks of blood down the grimy wallpaper.

"Hands up," Jane snapped sharply, her rifle raised, voice hard and cold. The three radio operators reacted immediately, terror etched plainly across their pale faces. Hands shot into the air, their chairs scraping loudly against the worn wooden floorboards. None of them made a move toward their sidearms or rifles, clearly too shocked or too scared to risk death.

"Stand up," I ordered, pistol still leveled at them, barrel unwavering. "Move to the wall, kneel down facing it. Now."

They obeyed immediately, scrambling over one another, their boots skidding in panicked haste. They knelt down shoulder-to-shoulder, trembling visibly as Jane and Wendy covered them. I knew what had to be done.  There was a cold calculus here, of whether or not we could keep them secured while doing what we had to, and risk them opening their mouths at the wrong moment. Not when there was a simplet, more succinct solution at hand. It would be simple. Easy. Because what's one more paving stone on the road to hell?

I moved behind them, pistol still gripped firmly in my right hand. My heartbeat slowed slightly, a strange calm settling over me as the weight of the decision rested coldly in my chest. There could be no witnesses, no risk of someone breaking free to raise an alarm later. I steadied my breathing, ignoring the sharp pang of hesitation, and leveled my pistol. In my mind's eye, I could see the family back in Bruhl. The six people, men, women, and children, turned to face the wall. The grandparents, parents, and a little son and daughter, executed.  Three generations of innocent people left to rot. These men, these soldiers, I comforted myself, at least they signed up for the war. Same flag, same blood, same colors. I exhaled.

Three quick, muffled cracks echoed softly in the enclosed room, each bullet placed carefully at the back of the skull. The operators slumped forward, bodies limp, their blood pooling silently across the stained floor.

Wendy stared at me, her eyes wide, shaken by the brutality of what she had just witnessed. Her mouth opened slightly, disbelief clear on her face. I wish I could say this was the same, but she knew it wasn't. There was killing, and then there was murder, and as she looked at me she just… swallowed, and looked away. Jane, on the other hand, simply nodded, her expression hard and approving. She understood necessity, recognized the harshness of war for what it truly was. Neither of them spoke as I holstered my weapon.

Turning away, I moved swiftly to the radio equipment. The room was filled with humming equipment, cables tangled haphazardly across several mismatched tables. Wendy approached beside me, quickly inspecting the configuration with practiced eyes. Two separate radio sets sat side by side, clearly isolated. Wendy scoffed quietly, shaking her head as she examined the setup closely.

"This system is archaic," Wendy muttered softly, shaking her head. Her earlier shock was slowly replaced with professional irritation. "Primitive airgapping. Paranoid, but easy enough to work around." She took the controls, playing with the system, "Give me a second to switch the transceiver to broadcast what we need it to. Should also tie up the outgoing airwaves. Imp personal radios don't have the best range. They build for ruggedness."

"Make it quick," I urged gently, already reaching for my own radio. I toggled the transmit button, speaking low and steady into the handset. "Radio secured. We're ready."

Juno's voice crackled back immediately, tension clear in her carefully controlled tone. "Confirmed, Sergeant. Imperial units are moving heavily against the choke points. Traffic says the Armored Fourth is pressing Squad Six hard. We need this broadcast ASAP."

"Copy," I said quietly. "We're on it."

Wendy finished her adjustments, giving me a quick nod as she flipped several switches, her fingers quick and confident now. "You're live, Boss."

Grabbing the microphone, I took a steadying breath and spoke clearly, my voice calm and authoritative. "All units, this is central command. Immediate reposition to coordinates Delta-Seven-Four-Nine. Gallian regulars and armored columns have broken through our western flank. Repeat, immediate regroup at Delta-Seven-Four-Nine to repel. Execute immediately."

The response was immediate.  Juno reported sudden disengagements, rushed repositioning, sudden pullbacks across the line, the threat of some dug in farmers with pitchforks so much less than a real, professional army. A sudden spearhead into the guts of held territory without even so much as a warning? That had the reds in a real panic.  In moments word had spread like wildfire.  Then we heard it, the thunder of the big guns.  155mm guns, the thrumming call of their shots echoing over the battlefield chaos like the tidings of doom.

The other radio unit sparked to life, an angry voice shouting orders to countermand my broadcast. But with no operator left alive to relay the messages, the furious words disappeared unanswered into the room. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, as the shells hit the ground with a catastrophic boom. I could see the plumes of smoke and fire from here, as the guns fired again and again, a staccato of hellfire, like the wrath of the gods. We waited silently, tension gripping tightly around us.

An unfamiliar voice came through the unit a moment later, deeper and richly accented, dripping with dark amusement. "Well, well, I suspect none of our boys are left at the relay post, are they? Come now, whoever you are, at least have the courtesy to pick up a call from the great Radi Jaeger, no?"

I hesitated for a moment, aware of Wendy and Jane staring at me uncertainly. Taking a slow breath, I keyed the microphone, voice steady but deliberately cold. "Hello, Jaeger."

There was a pause, then the smooth hum of satisfaction in his reply. "Ah, so the ghost speaks. I must say, you have a rather dramatic flair. Toppling my relay station, misdirecting half a division, and now sitting quietly on my line like some storybook thief. Much as I hate to say it, you got me good, you know?  I didn't think these country bumpkins had it in them."

I kept my voice even. "You'd be surprised what men can do when you corner them."

"Of course, of course," he said, almost soothingly. "But forgive me, I do like to know who I'm speaking to. A name, perhaps? A rank? No? Even a codename would do. You're not militia, nor are you regulars. I've had the displeasure of speaking to their commanders before, and you're not like them. But, I get the feeling you're going to be obtuse about it."

"Then stop asking."

Another chuckle crackled through the speaker, dry and knowing. "Very well. Keep your secrets. But tell me this: was it worth it? For a few hours of chaos and a pile of bodies? Did it feel like victory, carving up boys who never saw you coming?"

I didn't respond to that. He already knew the answer.

He continued anyway. "A nasty trick you pulled, friend. I'm impressed, truly. But now that you've played your hand, I'm afraid you've left yourself boxed in. My men are closing in. You must know that. I know exactly where you are. I've already sent them on their way."

"That'd be a neat trick," I said quietly, "if we didn't already have control over your comms."

"Oh, I have no doubt," he replied with a grin in his voice. "I imagine you've got your hands all over my signals. But runners don't need radios, and I have plenty of them. They're fast, loyal, and I've already sent more than a few. It's only a matter of time."

"Time is all I need, Jaeger."

"You'll be long gone before they get here?" Jaeger continued. "I doubt it. You're too deep, too slow. And I'm quite motivated now. You've cost me a great deal of face."

"Not my concern."

He let that hang a moment, then shifted his tone again, lighter but sharper. "You could surrender, you know. Lay down your weapons, step outside. I'd have you brought in to me. In shackles, yes, but alive. I can't promise you'll be spared, but I could speak on your behalf. You've earned at least that much."

I almost laughed. "You offering me mercy, Jaeger?"

"I'm offering you a choice. The smart men take it."

"Smart men don't start wars they can't finish."

He clicked his tongue once. "So cold, so stubborn. Fine, then. When my men drag you in, bleeding and broken, I'll see what's left of that clever tongue of yours."

"Maybe. We'll see, won't we?" The words rolled off my tongue like ice from a mountain peak.

I gave a dark smile, leaned into the mic, and said quietly, "Either way, I'll be seeing you soon, Radi." With a flick, the unit was dead, power off.

I turned back toward Wendy, my voice clipped and sharp. "How hard would it be to rig this radio with explosives? Set to detonate as soon as someone turns it back on?"

A wicked grin spread across Wendy's face as she considered the request. "Not hard at all, Boss. Give me a minute." She had already pulled out a block of the Comp-R that seemed a little too big for the pouch she kept it in. As I saw it, a plan started to form in my mind, knowing that the RDX/Titronucleide mix in the three pound cube she was carefully wedging into the radio would level the whole damn building more effectively than an artillery strike.

"Jane, with me," I ordered sharply, giving Wendy a nod, already moving toward the door. Jane followed close behind, but she groaned audibly when I gestured upward, toward the roof.

Juno's voice crackled urgently over the radio, tense and rapid. "Sir, Imperial units are converging on your position from every direction. Get out now."

Wendy muttered a quiet curse under her breath, her face a mask of exasperation, even as she quickly rigged the explosive charge. I motioned toward the stairs, feeling the weight of the coming danger settle coldly across my shoulders.

"We go up," I said firmly. "Move it."

The stairwell behind us became a death trap in waiting. Wendy moved fast, crouching low and working with a kind of rhythm that spoke to years of handling unstable compounds and complex wiring. She wrapped the tripwires around railings, door handles, even a broken pipe jutting from the concrete. Her fingers never stopped. Two grenades. Three. A pressure switch jammed under a loose floorboard. I saw the faint grin tug at her lips. She was in her element, and for a moment, it grounded her.

We kept moving. I led the way back to the rooftop, Jane behind me, Wendy bringing up the rear after planting the last surprise. I could hear the rush in her breath but no hesitation in her steps. Just as we reached the ledge, a single crack echoed over the city. Marina's rifle. A puff of red mist bloomed across the shoulders of a nearby rooftop, followed by the limp tumble of a sniper rolling out of cover.

"Clear," came Marina's voice through the radio, terse and calm.

We took the jump again. My boots struck the opposite ledge hard, knees buckling slightly under the weight. Wendy landed a second later, hitting with a grunt, and Jane brought up the rear, rolling once to steady her rifle. There was no time to breathe.

"Tank incoming," Juno warned. Her voice crackled through the radio like it was soaked in tension. "Heavy armor, main road. Two others flanking it. Infantry behind."

"Status of the offensive?" I asked, already scanning the skyline.

"Early reports are saying Red lines are collapsing all over. Welkin's pushing in. They're making it count."

"Understood."  I said, as we moved. "We're going the long way out, through the southeast building. Provide cover on approach E-S-E." I barely heard Juno confirm the order as we slammed through the building.

The enemy was swarming the other apartment complex, pouring into the structure like rats in a drowning ship. I saw their troops in the distance, flickering behind windows and ruined walls. Marina picked off two more who dared climb high. Her long rifle barked with deadly rhythm, and I didn't have to see the bodies to know they had dropped.

We were almost down the last stairwell when it happened.

The entire eastern building shuddered like a struck bell, and then it came apart. A sound like tearing mountains rolled across the plaza as a roaring column of fire and pulverized concrete swallowed half the structure. The floor heaved under our feet as the shockwave hit us, windows on our side shattering and spraying glass inward.

Wendy burst into laughter, not just joy but that manic, wild sound that people only made when something impossible actually worked. She doubled over, hands on her thighs, cackling like a kid who had pulled the pin on a miracle. I tried not to be disturbed by the almost orgasmic joy she seemed to be feeling. Didn't feel fair, coming from me.

The plaza was a white void.

Dust boiled up from the crater where the building had stood, coating the air in a chalky fog so thick I could barely see past my own outstretched hand. The explosion had cracked every window within a hundred meters and thrown bricks across the street like dice. What was left of the northeastern apartment block groaned as support beams twisted and collapsed inward, a slow-motion death rattle that sent tremors through the ground beneath us.

Wendy was still cackling behind me, breathless and hoarse. "God, I love that stuff. Comp-R, bay-bee. She doesn't disappoint."

"Alright, cap it Cheslock." I growled, but I didn't stop her from laughing. She'd earned it, beyond my wildest expectations.

I yanked the cloth mask higher over my mouth and pushed forward. The visibility was awful, but that worked both ways. The dust was so thick it muted gunfire and light, turning muzzle flashes into pale orange flickers and footsteps into ghosts. My rifle sat balanced on my shoulder, my left hand extended slightly as I moved ahead in a crouch. Behind me, I could feel Wendy's hand gripping the drag strap on the back of my vest. Jane's fingers were hooked into Wendy's belt. The line was tight, practiced, and disciplined.

"Keep right," I muttered into the mic. "Stay close. Watch your angles."

"Copy," Jane said. Her voice was low and tense.

"Still smiling," Wendy whispered, half-singing through her teeth.

I heard the click of safeties flicked off in tandem. We weren't sneaking anymore. The rifles were up and ready. It was time to fight our way out.

Shapes began to emerge in the haze. Shadows stumbled through the dust, hunched and coughing, weapons held low. Imperials. Disoriented and panicked, some had tossed helmets, some had their rifles slung across their backs like it was still peacetime. The shockwave had knocked them stupid.

One stepped into my path. He blinked, dazed. His helmet was gone and blood trickled from one ear. I raised my rifle and fired twice. The rounds snapped through his chest and dropped him flat. The sound barely registered over the ringing in my ears.

Two more figures sprinted from the left, silhouettes moving through swirling smoke. One raised his weapon. Wendy's rifle barked behind me and the man folded backward, a wet grunt lost in the choking fog. Jane pivoted right and squeezed off a burst. The third soldier staggered, tripped over rubble, and didn't get back up.

"Contact front," I said calmly. "Engaging."

"I see them," Marina replied through the radio, her voice faint with static. "Sniper overwatch active. Taking targets."

Her rifle cracked once. Then again. Each shot felt like a punctuation mark against chaos. Clean, decisive. Distant metal screamed as a structure shifted somewhere north. More collapse.

"Sir, armored unit moving up through the east corridor," Juno reported, her voice clipped and clear. "Looks like one of the new VK-101s, the Heavies. Infantry with them. You need to move."

"Copy. Status?" My eyes slipped side to side, the dust burning them, making me tear up. Next time I'm bringing goggles. All of us will be.

"Already falling back to the secondary line. Marina's covering you until you're clear."

We moved faster. The plaza was a maze of wreckage now. We were far enough away that the dust wasn't blinding, but that didn't make the trip any safer. Collapsed storefronts spilled broken glass and twisted signs into the streets. Shattered carts smoldered beside shell holes filled with dust and blood. We moved steady, not fast, but smooth, eyes peeled more for potholes and trip hazards than enemies. I didn't want a broken ankle to fuck us now that we were almost at the finish line.

I ducked through the remains of a bakery, leaping over the counter as I cleared the wall. The others followed without hesitation, Wendy slamming into a broken support pillar and using it to redirect her momentum. Jane slid under the hanging remains of a roof beam, her boots skidding on cracked tile.

Another squad of Imperials emerged from the south entrance, rifles raised and shouting commands. One of them saw us. "Over there! Gallians!"

I didn't wait. My rifle came up and barked. I shot the lead soldier through the faceplate and didn't stop moving. Wendy stitched a burst through the next two, dragging her sights smoothly across the line. One fell backward into the dust, the other dropped to his knees and screamed before Jane ended it with a round to the neck.

The radio crackled again. "You have thirty seconds before armor has line of sight," Juno warned.

"Understood," I replied. "We're moving. Marina, priority on anything with optics or heavy caliber."

"Already on it," Marina replied coolly. "Eyes up. You've got another two on your left flank, behind the burnt-out truck."

I pivoted without hesitation. Sure enough, two soldiers tried to use the vehicle for cover. One raised a long rifle. I dropped him with two rounds through the windshield. The second barely got his finger on the trigger before Jane shot him through the throat.

"Cleared! Thanks, Marina," I said.

"Anytime," came the reply, faint and distant, followed by another sharp report from her rifle.

We reached the edge of the plaza just as the tank's silhouette emerged through the haze. Its angular frame looked ghostlike in the smoke, the barrel swaying side to side like a blind predator sniffing the wind. I saw a glint as the turret rotated toward us.

"Run!" I shouted.

We bolted. Boots slammed on rubble and glass as we dove behind the collapsed storefronts ringing the western end of the square. The tank fired. The shell tore through the air behind us and exploded in a geyser of flame and shattered concrete. The shockwave slammed into our backs and sent us sprawling into a ditch behind the butcher's shop.

"Everyone good?" I barked.

"Still alive," Wendy coughed.

Jane nodded, cradling her rifle. "I'm fine. Keep moving."

Smoke poured in through the alley behind us as the Imperials closed in. The fallback point was only a few blocks ahead, but we were running out of time and terrain. I led them through a hole blasted into the side of a laundromat, ducking between ruined appliances and powdery walls. The backdoor had been blown open by something, and we sprinted out the other side into a narrow alley that led toward the old tram line.

"We're close," I muttered.

Juno's voice came through the radio again. "You're almost at the checkpoint. We've got control over the fallback lane. Come through fast. No more rear guard."

"Understood," I said.

We pushed forward one last time, boots slamming over shattered brick and steel. Shots rang out behind us. Wendy flinched as a round ricocheted off the corner to her right. I spun and fired two suppressive bursts, then turned and ran again.

At last, we broke into the open. Beyond the line of sandbags and hastily constructed barricades, Gallian soldiers waved us through. Marina was perched on a rooftop nearby, rifle still in hand, covering our retreat. Juno stood beside a field officer, eyes narrowed as she scanned for movement.

We passed through the checkpoint, breath ragged and limbs burning, but alive. Behind us, the plaza was still cloaked in smoke and fire. The Imperial response was underway, but they were too late. The relay was down. Their orders were jammed. Their forces in chaos.

We had done it. For now.