“They’ve been beaten here,” Gyal complained, “And from what I hear, they’ve been beaten outside too, or just as good’ve.” The large man, still clad in the armor Fritz had given him before the operation had started, leaned over in between battlements of the fort, and gestured out to the chaos beneath his gaze. “They’re hardly even shooting up here anymore. In a few places, maybe you’ll get potshots, but they’re done with us.”

“Some are fighting amongst one another for supremacy in the times afterwards, while others are trying to rally the city to defend itself to broker better conditions.” Fritz explained. Again. “One could say they’ve begun the fight for their future.”

“Pah.” Gyal spat over the wall, “Their future’ll be nothing but ashes at this rate. Should just all lay down their arms and let their new rulers deal with whatever nonsense they’re fighting over.”

“If only they were so considerate as you.”

“Yeah, funny,” Gyal stopped. “Some of them might be. Hate to remind you of the disappointment, but I’ve not been shot once.” The large man pointed to the heavy armor restraining his normally wide belly. It encased him practically from head to toe, though an observant individual would notice the lack of plate upon the thighs and under the arms. Fritz pointed this out, as well as noting that the Death Heads, with their use of Ellowian plate by the leadership, were well acquainted with the idea of armor.

“Shouldn’t keep em from shooting,” Gyal sniffed, “Else you could’ve made this outta something lighter and counted on the bluff working.”

“Yet you still wear the armor, as much as you complain.”

“Only because you’ll complain if I throw it off.”

Gyal would be right about that.

“So.” The big man looked to the horizon, now good and clear with the departure of the storm, “That kid’s the one who beat the attack coming for the Republic Army?”

“With Loch’s help, yes.” Fritz admitted curtly, “Though in doing so he may have gutted the troops most loyal to the queen to be. Perhaps he will do worse, as he is coming to storm the city.”

“You’re too harsh, Gu-“

“Name.” Fritz reminded Gyal harshly.

“Sorry. Fritz. Whatever. Gets confusing since we’ve already got a goddamn Fritz here, and it’s not even his code name. Hell, nobody’s even here listening.” Fritz glared at Gyal. “Fine,” the big man sagged, “Anyways, you ought to let up on Von Tracht. He’s, what, a lieutenant? And Loch asked him to take the job. You think he could’ve said no?”

“Were I in his position, I would have.”

“Saying Loch’s wrong in this?” Gyal challenged curiously.

“Loch has an inefficient romantic streak, for his genius,” Fritz said critically, “That you share in such romance blinds you to his flaws.”

“Still. He beat ‘em. People die in battles, Fritz. I’d think you’d know. Sometimes a lot of people die. Can’t be helped, it’s not like he didn’t try for otherwise. Hell, he saved the White Eyes, didn’t he?”

“The ruin of what remained. In the process, mauling his own command, as well.”

A period of muteness between the two passed, as they continued about the place. It had only recently become tolerable to take walks outside, to let off some steam. For hours there had been miserable sobbing and screaming. No sooner than the fort had been captured had the miner militias set to savagely raping every female they could lay their hands upon. Tensions between Loch’s raiders, and their allies, the Mining and Home Guard factions who had rallied behind, had nearly exploded into violence when furious exception was taken to the militia’s barbarism, and a pair of the rapists were seized and summarily executed, discovered dumped in the courtyard with a bullet in each of their necks. The perpetrators of the killing were unknown, but the militia heavily suspected the party of foreigners; Fritz, and all other accompaniment.

Fritz had taken authority in preventing any further conflict by ordering Loch’s, as well as the Strossvalder, men to the walls. With this choice he also accepted the hatred he knew he would gather from such a decision. If that was how it was, so be it, he had thought. He could be the monster who let mass rape pass under his sight, if it meant that the forces under his command wouldn’t be slaughtered by their former allies, and the fort lost to Loch and Lady Vang.

At the very least, he had secured Von Tracht’s scarred woman with absolute haste upon taking the fort, and had her under guard. Her service was hardly such that could tolerably be repaid by letting the mob presume she was an enemy in need of vengeful punishment.

“Whatever you think,” Gyal finally said after they had passed into and out of a tower, “Loch’s interested in recruiting Von Tracht. You think it’s his skill, or, well, you know, since you don’t think much of that,”

“His lineage?” Fritz finished the sentence, “Perhaps. I do think it is more the deeds of his lineage than the man himself, and that that Von Tracht might potentially be the last of them. Loch does like his endangered species.”

“Endangered nobility, sure,” Gyal agreed, “I guess I can see that.”

“Not much of nobility at all, really,” Fritz tittered, “the first Von Tracht was some brigand upstart, his bloodline only recognized as blue because of his favors to he whom became Archduke. Strossvald has plenty enough of the old families, who could trace their lineage back to Nauk Imperial. I doubt our Von Tracht could trace it beyond his famous ancestor, else he might discover he was more Netillian than Strossvalder.”

“You and your quibbles about race,” Gyal sighed. "Let alone the sort of nobility."

“His fiancée is Von Blum, an old family, and of Imperial blood. Their progeny would at least have much less misplaced soil running in their veins than the father.”

“The hell’s even the difference between a Strossvalder or a Netillian?” Gyal idly queried, “Anyway, if you’re gonna ramble about that, I’ll be back to guard duty. The poor dear with the chairman wanted to hear something from you.”

“Hmph. I’ll see to that, then.”

The “poor dear” was some countrywoman that Von Tracht had dredged from his journies. She was covered in hideous scars, not the least of which were new acquisitions in the form of blackened limbs wrapped tautly with bandages, through which leaked bizarre dark ichor, that faintly swirled with color in the midst of its blackness, like spilt oil in water. Her cheeks and nose had also begun to flake with grey, as though part of her had temporarily been turned to stone. It was absolutely baffling, and even the medical expert claimed to have no knowledge of what had been inflicted upon her, doing his best to treat her in the meantime regardless.

The woman, called Hilda, did not hesitate to interrogate Fritz soon after he had made his entrance.

“Is Richter all right?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern. “You said earlier he was in a battle.”

“Richter?” Fritz asked, ignorant.

“…The Lieutenant. Richter Von Tracht.”

“Ah.”

It seemed that this woman felt rather strongly for the Lieutenant. Tragic, considering that he didn’t appear to reciprocate her affection in the slightest. Not if he had to consider for so long whether to send her on a suicide mission, unless he was thinking of worthless sentiment such as returning her trinket without having it being interpreted as a signal to go through with said deed. If he had, it would have been far more convenient to not convey such a message, anyways. Exactly how Cranick had ended up dead was a mystery to all, as even Hilda would not speak much of the details, but if it had been up to Fritz he would not have left the fate of the operation to something so uncertain it couldn’t even be properly recollected. Especially if the one other witness caught stated something so ridiculous as a demon appearing and melting the man as if he was wax in a flame.

“Von Tracht is in good health,” Fritz told Hilda, “He is coming, with a battalion, to storm the city and quell the infighting by force, and to link this fort with the rest of our forces.”

Hilda’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. “…From where..?”

Fritz smiled at her slowly. “Do you need to know? He’ll be here soon enough.”

Hilda stood up roughly and flexed her arms with a creak. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out myself.” Her voice had turned dull and bitter, grinding like a steel file.

“I don’t think so. The Lieutenant would be upset with me if I let any harm come to you, and the city is in such chaos, if you were to go outside, you’d likely be hurt in the crossfire.”

“And if I let any harm come to him, I’d hurt myself worse than you could imagine,” Hilda said to that, “I’m going.”

Fritz moved to stop her, but the woman was much faster and stronger than he assumed. She planted a foot in the center of his chest and kicked him over, and leapt out the door as Fritz found himself crashing into the floor.

“…Hmph.” Fritz heaved himself up and brushed himself off. “So be it, then. Bloody wench.”

One of the guards rushed in. “Hey,” he said quickly, “The scarred woman, she…burst out.”

“Did you grab her?” Fritz asked, not particularly concerned.

“Well, no, but, should we chase her down?”

“No. She’ll fight you if you catch her, and we’ve better things to focus our energy on,” Fritz told the trooper, “Our responsibility is this fort. If she chooses to leave our protection, then we can hardly be held responsible for any misfortune that might befall her.”

-----

You are Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht, and you are about to capture the city of Todesfelsen. Or, at least, you were busy convincing yourself of such. If it went poorly, your assault was sure to be bloody and damn near suicidal…but the potential for glory was blinding. Fortune and victory was lifting her metaphorical skirts at you, and she wasn’t wearing any underwear!..So went one of Heller Von Tracht’s few writings. It was effective, if unrefined. Hopefully, though, Fortune and victory hopefully thought of you as affectionately, regardless of crass metaphors.

“Hey, wake up, dick brain!”

Because if Fortune and Victory was a woman anything like this shrew, she was likely trying to draw you close and rip your throat out.

“Weren’t you getting ready to grill me some more on the city?” Anya demanded, a blonde, tough as nails fighter of a girl with an acid tongue. She wore her jacket provocatively open, and it never failed to distract. “…You checking me out?” she suddenly asked fiercely, “Don’t even think about it, buster. You aren’t so pretty that I’ll forget you’re a punk just by looking at you.”

“No,” you only fibbed a little. You’d think you’d gotten used to the sight of bared women from all the whores in the country, but there was something different about Anya that made her far more distracting, somehow. Not distracting enough, like she’d said to you, to draw the mind away from her absolutely venomous personality. “I had one last question. About how the people we’re fighting would take us on. How would they fight our armor?”

“Well,” Anya stretched her arms upwards, “Not like they’ll have much time to set up for you, but how would you do it? I’ll correct you where you’re wrong.”

Where you would be wrong, indeed. “I’d set up barricades on likely routes, and attack in close quarters where tank weapons would be of less use. I’d shoot at any exposed crew, if I could ambush them while they were out. The vehicles would be limited to roads, so I’d take advantage of that and move in the allies and rooftops if I could, and inside the buildings. I’d use firebottles and grenades, and any demolition explosives that I could. I could also lay traps under cobblestone or in garbage cans, and other such things.”

Anya listed your theories off on her fingers as you said them. “That’s alright. ‘s fine. Pretty good.”

“Of course,” you said haughtily, “I was trained at the tank officer’s academy. Perhaps you’ve had an education fighting, but I’ve more than enough theory to match that.”

“Don’t get too cocky til you’re in,” Anya pointed a finger at you, “I had plenty of your fancy theory when I got a knife in the face.”

“From where, pray tell.”

“Hell had us run through it a lot. Thought it was boring and dumb, but hey, if I told him I didn’t understand, he’d teach me again, one on one, and I think he knew it was so I could get more time with him. Heh…” Anya smirked, eyes half closed in remembrance. “…Anyways.”

“Anyways.”

“Whatever,” Anya threw her head aside, “Can’t do much else until we see the ground, can we? Let’s get going!”

“Agreed,” you looked out over the city you were to attack; smoke pillared from several points. This wasn’t just for your glory; your force had been selected, after all, for its speed. The longer you took, the more unnecessary death was wrought. “I suppose you want a command?”

“What?” Anya choked on a laugh, “Hell no, how am I supposed to keep a leash on you that way? I’m squatting in your tank, fella. Make room, unless you want me to sit in your lap.”

Anya got in your face a lot when she popped off like that, despite being a bit shorter than you, and you steadily had noticed a most bizarre thing. She was wearing perfume, a strong, almost sickly sweet lavender. You faintly recalled her having it on before, but you only now pondered on it. Mostly about whether it was less tolerable than cordite and kerosene.

>Is that a challenge? You’ll regret that proposal.
>If you’re going to be in my tank, you won’t be lounging. You’ll be my new...(Select position to replace. Positions are Loader, Gunner, Radio Operator, and Driver.)
>You? In my tank? By the Judge, no. You can be in somebody else’s vehicle, if at the front at all. (Specify who to put her with)
>Other?

-----------

>https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
>past threads in pastebin. Twitter is @scheissfunker for announcements and some other bullshit

>https://pastebin.com/k8yuNeuS
>Miscellaneous information pastebin. None of this is need to know, and if you have questions then feel free to ask in thread, this is more meant to be a refresher on topics already read about, since though there isn’t much that hasn’t been stated in quest that’s important, in some cases it’s been a long time since mentioning.

>>2399754
>>Is that a challenge? You’ll regret that proposal.

>>2399754
>>Is that a challenge? You’ll regret that proposal.

>If you’re going to be in my tank, you won’t be lounging. You’ll be my new Radio Operator.

We don’t want to mess with the crew too much right before a scrap like this, and the crew should feel familiar with the smell of perfume wafting from the RO’s seat.

This >>2399976

>>2399754
>Is that a challenge? You’ll regret that proposal.

“Is that a challenge?” you cocked an eyebrow and put a hand on your hip, letting a knee bend casually, “You’ll regret that proposal.”

You expected a fiery retort to that, but Anya’s smirk vanished, and she blinked dumbly at you. Was she actually caught off guard by that? “The hell are you even talking about?” she said flatly, “Dork.”

“The turret of an m/32B is rather cramped,” you elaborated, “There’s little seating room. Unless you want to lie down in the basket. Or straddle the breach.”

“Tsk. Might be preferable.”

“Boss!” You heard the voice of your Radioman, Hans.

He’d been in another tank for the past battle, but given the sudden change in the amount of intact tanks from your original platoon, the crewing arrangements had become rather awkward. One of your tanks had been lost in the battle that occurred earlier, and another had become disabled, its turret ring shattered and thus rendered unable to traverse without heavy repairs, the sort unavailable in the time given or the resources local maintenance had. There was no shortage of positions to fill in the Republic’s 1st Armor Battalion, which you commanded for now, but most of the vehicles were of far inferior quality to the vehicles you came from, to say nothing of their smaller crews. Crew would be separated from their commanders, and crew were only meant to command in dire situations. Some called it archaic noble hierarchic belief, but the commander was meant to be the iron will that held firm for every man in the tank.

“Junior Lieutenant…whoever he is,” Hans muttered the former; considering he had just been fighting alongside him, it was rather hard to believe that he didn’t actually recall Von Neubaum’s name. “He voluntold me for Von…”

“Von Metzeler.”

“Yeah, him, he wanted to know how we were going to arrange the platoon. With losing two tanks and all.”

You had hoped that the other malfunctioning m/32 could be coaxed back into activity by now, but that had unfortunately not been the case. Your own m/32 had been repaired, but that still left only two of your three most modern tanks working, and even then, not at their best. You could steal back the NfK-5ts back from the groups you’d distributed them to, the same tanks you’d stolen from Anya in your first meeting, but those were still vastly less preferable than having the old tanks you brought. Perhaps you could appropriate the PzA-19 armored car back from Bat Company. It was just about as well armored as an NfK-5 (to say, not well at all), if not better, though putting a tank commander in charge of Grenzwacht gear felt…wrong, somehow.

“Might not want to put them back in anything at all,” Anya proposed, “Given you’re going into a city, you know. Need at least a team on each tank. The treads aren’t doing anything by themselves unless you can shrink them down and have them grow legs.”

Hans looked to Anya with some surprise. “Heh, Boss, she coming with us? I don’t think the Princess’ll be too happy about that, if you still got her coming. Besides, not like there’s much room in the tank to take her along, unless you’re sitting in somebody’s lap.”

“An option we’re forced to commit to, I’m afraid,” you said, mocking disappointment.

Hans squinted at you. “…Yeah, right, everybody’s got to keep their fronts free except for…heh, boss, you’re a real dog, know that?”

Anya snapped her gaze contemptuously away and looked to someplace more interesting away from the two of you, which let your lecherous radio operator creep closer to her. You only saw him brush past her, but Anya leapt upwards with a yelp and took a halfhearted swing at Hans, who had jumped back himself, not gracefully or skillfully, but like a rat squirming away from a housecat’s paws.

“Did you just…Did you just!” Anya sputtered indignantly, eyes narrowed and fists raised.

“Bit slimmer than what you’re used to, I’m sure, but good enough of a lap warmer,” Hans observed, keeping light on his feet as Anya maintained a combative stance.

“I’ll kick your ass!” Anya snarled fiercely, but she didn’t move from her spot.

“Spicy,” Hans grinned broadly at the former mercenary, before looking back to you, not seeming to think much of the threat Anya had thrown at him. “Really, though, I need to get that answer back to Mozzel Toff or whatever, much as I’d like to mess around more.”

It was something to consider, indeed. Hans showing up made you think, though, on whether you should take Maddalyn into the next battle, as well. She was out of her special healing spells, and thus admittedly, it was difficult to justify keeping her in the potential line of fire. There was possibly a pesky Soulbinder in the city, not that you expected him to come after you, and Maddalyn would be more helpful if that became a factor, but otherwise? You didn’t want to have a situation where Maddalyn got shot again, especially if the next time, it was a mortal wound.

>Reclaim tanks from the rest of the battalion; you needed all crews and commanders possessing of mounts. (Choices are machine gun armed open topped two man gun tracks, and three man NfK-5ts.)
>Reclaim tanks, but also turn in your tank destroyers and other tanks with no turrets and open tops; nobody would be getting shot out from above if you could help it.
>Delay your assault a bit in order to examine some captured equipment to replace your losses
>No need to replace your losses; any spare crew and commanders would fight dismounted. They had infantry training, after all.
>Other?

Also-

>Keep Maddalyn in your tank for the city battle
>Keep Maddalyn back at base this time; she can’t be kept around this time

>No need to replace your losses; any spare crew and commanders would fight dismounted. They had infantry training, after all.

Infantry support can’t have their tracks blown off by an improvised explosive and they can prevent that from happening to us. Having infantry screen us keeps what armor we have left safer than whatever protection the actual armor on the tanks would give.

>Keep Maddalyn in your tank for the city battle

If we are keeping the tank safe with infantry, then I think we can reasonably keep Maddy safe with the tank. While she doesn’t have much benign utility if we take her, I think she is better off with us in a warzone then out of our sight in “safety”.

>>2400080
>No need to replace your losses; any spare crew and commanders would fight dismounted. They had infantry training, after all.
>Would also be nice to get a complement of Blue Barbs as a meatshield.

>Keep Maddalyn back at base this time; she can’t be kept around this time
Doesn't she need medical attention for her wound?
And, well, if we happen upon that soulbinder, I'm afraid Maddy would be in much danger.

>>2400205
>Doesn't she need medical attention for her wound?

She used the last tag to heal herself.

>>2400208
Anyway, she'd be in too much danger in urban combat.
Tell her that in a city we really need someone on the front MG.

It’s times like these everything would be easier if Hilda was wife, special eyes to spot ambushes, skillful hands to shoot them.

File: Best Girl on the scene.gif (159 KB, 711x800)

159 KB GIF

I'm late.

>>2400080
>>Reclaim tanks from the rest of the battalion; you needed all crews and commanders possessing of mounts. (Choices are machine gun armed open topped two man gun tracks, and three man NfK-5ts.)

Use the NfK-5ts and also replace as many open-topped tanks with enclosed ones as possible.
I'm pretty sure we have enough infantry to bring along with us that we don't need to waste our trained crewmen as infantrymen. The more tanks we bring the more infantry we can carry on top of them anyway.

>Keep Maddalyn back at base this time; she can’t be kept around this time
She can keep herself busy making more spell cards for the future; she isn't useful as just a radio operator

>>2400403

Is that a bottle of mountain dew in her waistband or is she just happy to see us

>>2400477
Just to note, you've got full access to the trucks again now.

>>2400080
I suppose it'd be to much to hope that there are locked motor pools that might not have been deployed that we could pilfer.

>Delay your assault a bit in order to examine some captured equipment to replace your losses

And for Maddalyn. Quickly take her aside and ask her honestly, does she want to go back? If she says yes, keep her as the radio operator. Make sure she knows that its alright if she dosnt want to go, and were not pressuring her to stay just because her healing tags are spent.

>Just to note, you've got full access to the trucks again now.
I've forgotten, are we just going with whats left of the motorized infantry or can Loch spare some reserves to fill a truck or two. No point bringing the trucks if we dont have the manpower to properly utilize them.

>>2400080
>Reclaim tanks from the rest of the battalion; you needed all crews and commanders possessing of mounts. (NfK-5ts.)
>Delay your assault a bit in order to examine some captured equipment to replace your losses

While time is of the essence I remember we faced some very potent war machines out there. And I know our officers won't want to jet around in NfKs.

>Keep Maddalyn back at base this time; she can’t be kept around this time

She was shot, forced to watch us almost die and has had a hellish time in Sosaldt. Plus we'd be bringing her back to the Fort where she was both physically and emotionally TORTURED.

Leave her here, she's going to fight us on this but I don't want her put back in the line of fire and killed. After this we'll all go home and everything will be peachy forever.

>>2401279
>everything will be peachy forever.

Care to put any Strossmarcks on that?

>>2400080
>>Reclaim tanks from the rest of the battalion; you needed all crews and commanders possessing of mounts. ( NfK-5ts.)
>Keep Maddalyn back at base this time; she can’t be kept around this time

>>2401279
>everything will be peachy forever.
Until we wake up one night to Grossreich fighters strafing the depot and Grossreich divisions on the wrong side of the Imperial Gate

>>2401696

That was just a bad dream, anon. It could never happen.

Sorry I dropped the ball yesterday, I did some mild work and got this absolutely wretched cramp along basically my whole left side that ruined my ability to concentrate. It got better after some sleep, but I'll probably nap the rest of it off, or try to.

>>2400970
Your grenadiers were merged with the White Eyes you rescued to refill the ranks, but reinforcement can be requested too; they might have to ride dirty, though, instead of in a nice truck bed.

--------

“Tell Lieutenant Von Metzeler to reclaim the tanks we captured,” you told Hans, “Only take ones with closed tops. If possible, I want to know if we captured anything better. If you can, get some extra reinforcements from the Blue Barbs, too. I want some extra padding around us.” Though you doubted that you would be so fortunate, without giving the maintenance crews any time to repair anything that wasn’t sabotaged to uselessness. “Also, about Maddalyn…I’ll tell her myself where I want her to be.”

“Got it, boss,” Hans clicked his tongue and gave you a point, along with a final glance to Anya, who was still giving your radioman the evil eye. “Still waiting on my ass kicking, kitten.”

Anya’s frown deepened, and she took a slow breath, before straightening again and shoving a hand in her pocket dismissively. “Nah.”

“Too bad,” Hans teased her one more time as he spun on a heel and trudged away.

You watched him as he left, putting some distance in between him and Anya by means of your staying awkwardly around. When he seemed out of earshot, you muttered to Anya, “Saving the aggression for later?”

“….Nah.” Anya said as though nothing had happened, “Just haven’t been poked in a while. Dumb thing to get worked up over, shoulda just decked him.” You both started to head back. “You know, if that’s allowed and all. I don’t need you filing a report or whatever talking shit because I didn’t like getting my ass grabbed by however many you’ve got in your tank.”

“Of course not,” you scowled, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m only being ridiculous because you’re pretty damn ridiculous.”

“I’m not-“ you caught yourself, “I suppose I am somewhat ridiculous, in a good way.” You did win the last battle and counted on winning another, after all. It wasn’t unjustified to indulge in some innocent self-adulations.

“In plenty a dumb ways too, I bet.” Anya grumbled idly, “Still don’t get why you’re even here.”

“Duty. Honor. Glory chasing.”

“No, dunderhead,” Anya pushed up testily beside you, “Cut the crap.” You had presumed that the Captain had told her the general gist of your mission here, and brought up as much. “That guy?” Anya recalled, “A little, maybe, but nah. More interested in telling stories, like he was my dad or some crap. I’m behaving myself, don’t I get to know a bit?”

…What was the harm, you supposed. “Around a few hundred people were kidnapped from the border regions, and your old leader claimed he was holding them hostage.” Ah, the hell with subtlety, she knew you were from Strossvald anyways. “I was sent to rescue them, not the least because they were being used to delay our offensive in that region. As far as I’ve heard, since your ilk returned, the interruption’s no longer present, but our citizens still need to be rescued. That, and you made it personal.”

“Expies made it personal,” Anya objected to such blame, “Don’t think I’m some slaver or kidnapper. I’m a goddamn mercenary. I heard about that job, though.”
“Mercenary or not, you worked with slavers.”

“It’s not the same,” Anya stressed, oddly offended, “You want to blame anybody, blame the Republic. Of Valsten. They’re the ones who wanted the insurance, so I hear. I’m no slaver, you. My mom got sold, I got sold. You really think I got any love for them? They get tolerated ‘cause that’s just the way it is around here.”

Sold? You pressed her on that. “To who?”

“Ran away from home and got nabbed, put on a market. Hell bought me.”

Ah. “You returned home in the end, it seems.”

“Caught between Hell and Home. Once Hell died, I had to go. You know?” Anya softened significantly when talking about the past, you noticed. Or was it just in regards to your uncle? “Guess you never spent much time around him.”

“He hardly ever visited.”

“Said he had a brother he thought a lot of. Said he was a lot smarter than he was.”

“Father is a lawyer.”

“Didn’t take after that cerebral pursuit, huh.”

“…No.” you admitted, “The life of a tradesman didn’t call to me at all. He rather disapproved of my choice to seek an officer’s commission.”

Anya thought about that quietly as you drew closer to the platoon’s location once more.

“How was your relation with him, anyways?” You felt compelled to ask.

“Treated me like a niece or something, I guess. For a bit it sorta pissed me off that he didn’t treat me like a woman. Messed around with other ones plenty enough, but he said I was too young, too scrawny, said to go after his nephew instead.” She glanced at you flintily, “Too bad that turned out to be a disappointment. Worked at what he said an ideal girl should have real hard, too, and proud of it. Always said himself that the perfect broad had a hard body and a bad attitude.”

There was something missing, there. “A hard body, a bad attitude, and big fat breasts.” You corrected.

“He said big ballistics,” Anya said darkly, “Tanks. Guns.”

“And boobs.”

“Piss off.”

It felt like there was a chord you could pluck at there, but it really wasn’t your place to do that. Especially when you still had to think about what you were going to say to Maddalyn. She wasn’t going to be happy about your decision of what to do with her.

Upon arrival at your tank, it was easy to notice who lingered outside, and who didn’t, and why.

“She’s still asleep?” you asked Stein, you gunner, as you came up.

He nodded. “Hasn’t eaten, because of that. Is that alright?”

“It’s fine.” Maddalyn, in your experience, didn’t eat much anyways. It kept her slim, you supposed, but at the same time you wondered how her thighs and rear end didn’t turn to bone without nourishment. Perhaps it was best to not question that, you thought, as you made a noisy entrance into the tank. Heavy armored doors and hatches had ways of clunking and clanking no matter how they were opened and closed, and the lack of good oiling on their hinges with the filthiness they’d been subjected too meant that there was no shortage of squeaks and creaks either, yet your fiancée was still discovered still deep in dreamland. Not a good dream, either, if her less than peaceful expression and twitching was any indication.

So you woke her up in a way she’d approve of, instead of throwing water in her face. At least, you hoped. You moved in and locked your lips with hers in a quick snogging. Her eyes were still shut as you separated. Something else would have to be tried. You tried poking her, prodding her, but stopped short of anything that would be brutish or crude. Eventually, you pinched her small nose shut with a finger and a thumb until her eyes flew open.

“Wha…” She stammered, still drowsy as she gasped, “What are you doing?”

“It’s time to wake up,” you said dully.

“Couldn’t you have tried something gentler?” Maddalyn sulked, “I dread of what you’ll try next.”

“Kissing you didn’t work.”

“You…kissed me? While I was sleeping?” Maddalyn’s cheeks turned bright scarlet and she looked down at her hands, tapping her thumbs together end to end. She searched for words to say but couldn’t find them.

The effort to wake her had made you forget about any further flirting, though. “We’ll be heading out soon,” you said bluntly, “We’ll be attacking the city.”

“Ah.” The color faded from Maddalyn’s face, and she lay her hands flat again, still not looking at you.

The decision had already been made, but you felt it prudent to ask anyways. “Maddalyn,” you addressed your fiancée and waited for her to look at you, “Do you want to go back into another fight? You don’t have to.”

You’d tried to disguise the reasoning behind why you’d ask that, but Maddalyn saw through you as if you were insubstantial. “…I see how it is,” she said dully, “I am rather useless now, aren’t I.”

“I didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“It is true, though.” Maddalyn sighed long and loudly, and smoothed out her dress. “Fighting terrified me, Richter. Being in a battlefield, even safely within an armored box, wore me out. I wasn’t afraid of dying, not really. Isn’t that funny? Not until I was…you know.” She continued to look down, in discomfort. “I’d rather not, but if I’m needed, what choice would I have? But now I’m out of my Stitches, so I’m just…” She wrapped her arms around herself and kept her gaze pitifully down. “No. I’ll abscond. I make for a rather poor soldier, don’t I. Like a child dressing up.”

You poked her in the center of her chest. “You’re alright where it counts.”

Maddalyn was on a streak, though, and wouldn’t be stopped there. “Maybe if I were more like that Hilda girl. Or even that horrible Anya. I’m so intolerably weak.” She looked back up at you seriously. “I just…one thing. If it wasn’t me…who would you pursue?”

You felt your eyes squint skeptically at her involuntarily in response to such a statement.

>Not any of that silliness right now. Let’s get you someplace comfortable now.
>Probably nobody. Our marriage was arranged, remember? I’d probably wed myself to a gun.
>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but it’s…(Write In)
>Other?

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>>2402263
Oh that's a trap option alright. A fun big red button I wanna push.

But it'd only get Maddy to dig herself even deeper into this dark pit she likes to live in so,

>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but it’s…(Write In)

The m/32.
...even if the 4.7cm anti-tank gun is a bit awkward.

ANYA

>>2402263
>Other

Well my second favorite color is green, so I would probably go for Fie. Do you think she has a magical m28 up there in the mountains I could get for a dowry, or would I just have to settle for her magical powers?

>>2402263
>>Probably nobody. Our marriage was arranged, remember? I’d probably wed myself to the Tank and Panzercorp. And before you go off on me again about how i'm only tolerating you out of duty, I would have left you back at the Blummlands and I certainly woudlnt have come to this horrible country for someone I didn't love. Now, lets get you someplace comfortable.

Lets drive her to Wossehn's manor, im sure he'd love the chance to properly talk to Maddy. And on the way Richter can apologize for striking her.

>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but it’s…(Write In)
Mathilde, under Emma's possession

>>2402263
>Probably nobody. Our marriage was arranged, remember? I’d probably wed myself to a Tank.
The m/32 is truly best girl, even if she's a bit high maintenance

Hilda is fine too

>>2402263
>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but it’s… m/32 ~<3!

Signy is fine too

>>2402263
Tell Maddy we'd go for her sister, just to mess with her. With all due goofiness ofcourse

Has there been lewds yet

>>2402770
There was handholding.

>>2402778
Disgusting.

>>2402263
>Fie is adorable, isn't she?

Let's look at these options!

>Not any of that silliness right now. Let’s get you someplace comfortable now.
"Your deeply held concerns are silly, let me brush them off and go do more important things. Be a good dear, now."

>Probably nobody. Our marriage was arranged, remember? I’d probably wed myself to a gun.
"My standards for women are so low it doesn't actually matter. I'm not really interested in marriage, or women, I just got saddled with you."

>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but it’s…(Write In)
"Let me give you an object to become jealous and wary of. You're not yandere, right?"

Jokes aside I think the last one might actually be the best option for Maddie, and hear me out - Because on the surface it looks and sounds like a terrible idea, and to an extent, I acknowledge it absolutely is. We know Maddie's self esteem can't go any lower, and her jealousy could lead somewhere hazardous, but on the same token it's also motivating to her. It gives her a goal to work towards, and by telling who - More importantly WHY - we'd go after another member of the party, it gives her cause to try and improve herself for whatever reason we gave.

This does have a chance to backfire. The yandere joke, while entirely improbable, isn't impossible. Also if she feels like she can't emulate the traits we found attractive, it'll lose its good points. I suggest thinking over the potential waifu Anya choices and picking one Anya with traits we specifically respect or admire, and then emphasizing that as the reason they're Anya attractive to us. The goal here, however, is to focus more on the traits they Anya have that are attractive than the person themselves, and then give Maddie the nudge that we think they'd look especially charming on her.

So, who is our best choice for this and why is it Anya? I'm glad you asked, because Anya is the patrician waifu for the thinking soldier, and objectively the best thing since sliced bread. Even now, pointing Maddie towards Anya is a brilliant idea! Let's review why:

1. Anya is flat and boyish, but I bet her ass is amazing! This is a body type Maddie can pursue with impunity. Play to Maddie's strengths!
2. Anya don't take shit from dumbasses! If Maddie is to be our wife, she needs to be able to call us on our shit and tell us we're being stupid! Courage Maddie, courage! Take that initiative!
3. Anya can command tanks and shoot people! Maddie has already accompanied us in battle and helping makes her feel good. Anya probably has experiences with being afraid of battle at first that she could relate to Maddie more believably than coming from us.
4. Anya maintains her femininity despite all of this! Look at that pink shirt! Maddie can become a badass just like her and never fear that we'll stop seeing her as an attractive woman!

With these things in mind!
>>2402263
>I’ll only tell if you won’t upset yourself over it, but...
Anya!

>>2402895
This anon makes valid points and it is not only because I am biased towards Anya.

>>2402895
I want to say Fie because if Maddy makes herself go retarded it would make me laugh

>>2402895

Clearly the most direct route is just to hire Anya as a mentor for Maddy as well as a military adviser.

Alright I'm not dead anymore. Writing.


m/32B- 3
Anya-2
Hilda-1
Mathilda-2 (Even if in jest)
Fie-2
Signy-1

m/28-0 RIP in Pieces First Girl Wurst Girl No Penetrating Power Outdated Main Gun Had a Hole Blown in It Used Goods
Votes show a preference towards the caboose that will be kept in consideration.

Damn, missed the vote. Good thing I was gonna vote for m32-san ~

>>2403246
Ohh this will be ugly

I like it!

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>>2403246
Look the m/28 will always have a place in my heart but we need something with a little more junk in the trunk.

“Well,” you leaned forward surreptitiously, “I’ll only tell you if you won’t upset yourself over it, but I would have chosen…”
Maddalyn leaned forward, a sightless eye wide as it struggled to see something it couldn’t. Which was a good thing, because you were smirking like a fool.
“…this tank.”

Maddalyn’s look turned withering with irritation, and she huffed at you. “Hmmmffff.” She didn’t seem to find as much humor as you did in that statement.

“Don’t think I forgot who gave it to me, though,” you reinforced your position hastily, while doing your best not to name anybody specifically, “but if you forced me to chase after somebody else, I’d go for somebody…assertive. Bold. Somebody unafraid of seeing my weaknesses, and who’s strong on their own terms. A fighter, if you will, but still feminine.”

“Anya.” Maddalyn concluded flatly.

…You had rather described the mercenary, hadn’t you? Though in far kinder terms than you’d otherwise use, given her rude behavior.

“I’m not done. I’d want somebody slim, small in the chest, but with a dense center of gravity. It wouldn’t do to have somebody who could be blown over by the wind.”

“A dense center of gravity?”

You poked her in the counterweight you referred to.

“Stop…” Maddalyn complained, “Besides…that, the people I can think of that are like that…I can’t say I like them very much.”

“People?”

“My sister springs to mind.”

“Unintentional, I assure you,” you’d only heard Mathilda speak once; you surely couldn’t be blamed for describing her vaguely. “You’re forcing me to leave you out of the running, though. If not any of them…well, green is my second favorite color, and I hear plenty about mountain girls being bottom heavy…” You hadn’t examined Fie too closely. Really.

“What’s your favorite color?” Maddalyn asked.

“Blue,” you answered reflexively. “Do you have one?”

Maddalyn pointed lazily at her eye. “I don’t know what a color looks like.”

“Well,” you saved yourself, “Your eyes are blue.” Maddalyn visibly loosened to that. When you said blue you were thinking of dark Strossvald uniform blue, while Maddalyn’s eyes were more of a robin egg pale blue, but she didn’t have to know that.

“Well,” Maddalyn began to rise to get out of the tank, “Thank you for being honest. I’ll…think about what you said.”

“Dear.” You said seriously as you wrapped your hands around her waist, “Would I have tugged you away from your home, and come all the way out into the wretched pit, for somebody who wasn’t worth it? I’d have to be rather dense to do it for duty’s sake alone.”

Maddalyn looked like she had something incredibly sarcastic to say, but she merely grunted in acceptance.

/trip

A staff car was procured to transport Maddalyn to Lord Wossehn’s manor; his company was one that would be safe enough, you were sure, and his admiration for nobility would mean that Maddalyn would likely not be bored or mistreated, especially given how highborn she was. The butler who met you at the gates recognized you, and let you in(escorted, of course, by himself and another) to meet with the rogue tycoon.

Lord Wossehn was one of the richest men in the world, supposedly, and he centered his operations here in this lawless country, his city of Wossehnalia intending to be a diamond among the wastes. It was the only place in this desolate hole that you’d seen possessing of tall buildings, clean architecture, and well dressed police forces. Most notable were Lord Wossehn’s strange ego projects; on one hill of the city, a colossal baroque tower was even now in the midst of being constructed, and Lord Wossehn’s manor itself echoed a castle of old times, though more decorative in design than fortress-like.

“Von Tracht!” Lord Wossehn purred as you approached, the tall, strongly built man dressed in a gaudy purple suit with a frilly white collar; you doubted that the man had any less assuming clothing, somehow. “And…is this your fiancée…? She is splendid to behold, if I may say so.” He said so, but more in the polite manner than any assuming tone.

Maddalyn had been thrust into a situation she was far more used to than you were, evidently, as she flawlessly curtsied, though not too deeply; even the Archduke himself did not demand a territorial lord bow, after all. “I am Maddalyn Von Blum, third daughter of Lord Barnabas Von Blum, ruler of the Blumlands and watcher of the Imperial Gate. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir..?”

Lord Wossehn’s eyes widened, and he bowed so deeply that for a moment he seemed as though he would tip over. “It is an honor..!” He said with meekness you would not have expected out of such a bombastic man, “You are surely the most eminent presence to grace these halls… I am no sir, tragically, merely a mister Wossehn.”

“This entrance is quite rich for a mere mister,” Maddalyn said coyly. This wasn’t a side you’d seen of her; you were rendered speechless as she took up meeting a new person not with skittishness or reflexive hostility, but with well-groomed court manners. “My fiancé is going to battle soon, but he will return…” Maddalyn glanced towards you, “And though I would like to tour these grounds with him, I would not mind being shown about first.”

“Ah,” Lord Wossehn bowed to you, “Best of luck, good sir Von Tracht. I will be certain to prepare a suitable victory celebration for you and your cohorts.”

“Farewell, love,” Maddalyn embraced you, and you hugged her back. She whispered harshly in your ear, “If you grope my bottom in front of this gentleman, I swear-“

You did, and Lord Wossehn pretended not to notice.

>There'll be some delay here as I finish up getting some things ready.

“Lieutenant Von Metzeler!” you called for your second in command as soon as you returned to your platoon.

“Not here!” came the voice of Junior Lieutenant Von Walen, “Went to look at the Blue Barbs we’re set to get. Something about wanting to pick instead of them dumping their trash on us.”

A valiant effort, considering that as far as you were concerned you doubted that Glockenblume, the city that was the administrative capital of the Blue Barbs’ territory, had likely sent naught but their trash. From what you’d seen when you last inspected them, the conscripts they sent were little more than barely armed bodies meant to go and die, in exchange for forgiveness of debts.

“He said he’d be in radio range,” Von Walen went on, “So we’ll get the pretty news of just how screwed we are soon, I think.”

You nodded to him in acknowledgement, and headed for you tank. The crew was outside, including Hans. You saw Anya’s rear end sticking out of the turret as she rooted around inside, apparently fulfilling some curiosity, but only just.

“Hans!” you shouted out, “I need somebody looking after the net. Lieutenant Von Metzeler should be calling in soon.”

“Aye aye, Boss,” Hans saluted with mocking rigidity, “Hey, move!” He called up to Anya, “Your fat ass is blocking the way!”

Anya turned around, “Eat shit! There’s another hatch!”

What a magical experience this was going to be, you thought as you moved for the other side hatch, pulling Hans along as he wound his arm up for an overhead slapping strike. You caught him just in time for the swat to only whiff past, clanging on the mudguard instead of the softer target. Your radioman swore up a storm as you took the long way around.

While you were all waiting for Von Metzeler’s report to come through, Anya dug through every nook of the tank.

“Don’t decorate much,” she noted, “You’re a boring bunch. What’s up with these shells?” Anya was poking at the Hellfire shells; obscenely dangerous weapons that had still gone unused. Hopefully they never would be fired, and they would remain a last resort forever.

“Modern art,” you lied, “By the gunner.”

“What a fruit,” Anya flicked at the spiral pattern on the warheads.

“She’s right though, boss,” Hans said of the earlier comment, “We need some postcards. Cutouts from girly mags. That sort of thing. Not like Princess’ll be around to complain all the time, can hide it in the medical kit if that’s a problem.”

“A strange choice of wound dressing,” you mused. “Something more tasteful would be preferable.”

“Yeah, what, like…” Hans stopped and adjusted his headset. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll put him through. Boss, it’s Von Tightass.”

“Lieutenant.” Von Metzeler immediately addressed you after you announced your presence on the line, “I have inspected the troops the Blue Barbs wish to donate to us. Two platoons, very roughly equipped, but in an urban situation I can see them having more utility than they normally would. A company was offered, but I culled the numbers to half, both to control for quality and to ease transportation.”

“Right,” you replied, “Tell me about them, then.”

“Actually, I can refine my search further, if you wish, because of the numbers.” Von Metzeler said, “The superiors have been unusually…accommodating, to my requests.”

>It doesn’t matter. Take whoever’s there, they’re stuffing anyways. (Optionally, take more than the two platoons, and conduct ferrying operations, though that can be risky, and adds time)
>Comb through and find the brutal, violent looking ones. I want a bunch that won’t fear the risks I can put them through, and I don’t want the ones that think they’re already dead.
>Put some pressure on them. I don’t want any of their chaff, grab their leadership and organize that into a unit. That’s where their actual elite is, and I’m not interested in taking out their garbage. (May have political consequences)
>Other?

>>2403769
>>It doesn’t matter. Take whoever's there, they’re stuffing anyways.

>>2403769
>Comb through and find the brutal, violent looking ones. I want a bunch that won’t fear the risks I can put them through, and I don’t want the ones that think they’re already dead.

Close quarter city fighting will be abysmal for morale. We need tough sons of bitches who want to live to see tomorrow and are willing to fuck up anyone in their way.

>>2403521
Maybe we should stop groping Maddy against her express wishes though. There's a thin line between "I know you actually want it" and "Your opinion is worthless and will be demonstratively disregarded by embarrassing you in public".

>>2403769
>Comb through and find the brutal, violent looking ones. I want a bunch that won’t fear the risks I can put them through, and I don’t want the ones that think they’re already dead.

>>2403769
So if I am reading this correctly, we can thin the herd to have a higher quality of soldier on average with less of them.

If that is the case, then wouldn't the more aggressive soldiers already have made the cut into our two platoons?

If that is the case then I think we should just stick with the two platoons. It gives the enemy more to shoot at, and I think any morale problems have already been solved by the Blues "combat enhancers".

>>2403818
This

>>2403818
It's more if you want a specific sort; what's happened so far is basically, Von Metzeler said "give me your better half out of these people you're offering," and if you want, he can be more insistent about what sort of people out of the whole offering, in case you don't trust the Blue Barbs to give you what you want.

That said, yes, the utter trash has been excised.

>>2403813
it only counts if we vote to do it

>It doesn’t matter. Take whoever’s there, they’re stuffing anyways.
Put the monsters in charge

>>2403850
Ok, then I think we should just take the Von Metzeler half then.

Unless we have time to take everyone out to a stream to see how they drink, I don't think we should be taking too much time searching for any above average dung in this dungheap.

>>2403769
>It doesn’t matter. Take whoever’s there, they’re stuffing anyways.
We’re burning time we don’t have already, the city is tearing itself apart and things will only continue to deteriorate for our assault if we give the enemy more time to prepare. Assuming the Blue Barbs gave us a decent mix, we should just mount up and head out.

>>2403769
>>It doesn’t matter. Take whoever’s there, they’re stuffing anyways

I'll be running again this afternoon/evening; have some other things I want to get a head start on for something I'm a part of next weekend. Shouldn't have another day delay.

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“It doesn’t matter,” you told Von Metzeler, without the apathy that statement might imply, “Take what you have. They’re stuffing anyways, padding to soften blows against our core.”

“Commander.” Von Metzeler sent back his affirmative.

As the troops finished assembling, apparently, high command had formulated the beginnings of a plan, once they’d been told of your in route through the southern mines. The primary goal was not only to reach the fort, but to seize lines of communication heading to and from it. This would put the nervous system of the city under the Republic’s control, and the battle may as well have ended there when that happened. So, the hit list went as such; mines, city outskirts, then the “orbital” road within (a road that went completely around the perimeter of the city. Froom there, a more direct road to the city center and fort could be reached. Those with more knowledge of Todesfelsen’s planning, at least theoretically, had been consulted beyond that. From the south, there was an equal parts obstacle and bounty called the Halftower; a half-ruined outpost the same age as the great fort, though much less well maintained. From this outpost spread all of the city’s in roads like stars, and more importantly, one such road was the only mainline pathway to the fortress itself. With the Halftower seized, breaking open any final barriers before the fort would be an easy wrap up to the operation.

Even crude maps were, of course, pending. Busily being assembled from the memories of prisoners and what could be observed, and relayed from the Fort.

With the Army of the Republic largely transported successfully, all of the motor assets that were originally part of the battalion were transferred back, with interest, in order to move all of your extra assets. The line infantry kept anti-tank assets that had been captured, but you were informed that the field guns and mortars captured at the Gash were now integrated into the 1st Armored Battalion; a trio of stubby mountain guns and mortars. More firepower was appreciated, you supposed, considering most of the battalion’s tanks had rather pitiful guns even compared to the puny 6 centimeter bore guns, designed more with portability in mind than thunderous might.

The battalion itself had taken a beating, but repairs, reinforcements, along with a few annoying breakdowns had resulted in its current organizations. Shuffling had taken place to even up units, at least on the platoon level. 2nd Company still languished with two platoons instead of three, but in giving up its panzergrenadiers to other units it had gained three full platoons of White Eyes infantry, now mounted in regained motorized materiel. The other companies had their usual three platoons of armor, but their panzergrenadier numbers were shored up with an extra platoon of Blue Barbs each.

In that way, your battalion had become a motley microcosm of the Republic itself (Well, besides the city state of Geniburg, though their presence was felt in arms rather than manpower). Were it that was necessarily a good thing. When it started out, the all-Guillotine unit, despite only a week of exercising, was well knit together. They had all mostly known one another for a long time; the 1st Armor Battalion was composed of the former Guillotine gang’s most seasoned troopers, as those who operated the vehicles and patrolled and skirmished the most. However, with the addition of all these disparate elements to their ranks, you’d already noticed tensions rising. Part of the decision to put the White Eyes all in one company was because of a fight that broke out shortly after your return to your own lines. Evidently, some of the Republic panzergrenadiers thought the White Eyes not nearly appreciative enough that they’d saved their hides, while in the opposite direction, Whites Eyes accused their allies of purposely using them as cannon fodder. The Blue Barbs introduction hardly helped, since they were regional rivals of the White Eyes before the Republic had united them, even moreso than the rivalries between the other founding members of the Republic, and White Eyes actively sought out the reinforcing rogues to give them a piece of their minds.

It had all stopped now that they were heading into combat. Few were unready in body; it was magical what a break for food and a trip to the latrine could do for that. There was more an issue in spirit. Bickering had sapped the will of the unit in spite of their tremendous victory, and they had been outright informed of the nature of the fight to come. There was no insubordination, no mutiny, but the overall attitude was clearly gloomy. There was little faith that any Todesfelsen sympathizers would aid in their fight, and, not caring much about the city itself, there was little feeling of goodwill to go and stop the chaos, especially if they were sure they would have to do it alone. Many openly expressed their feelings that they were sure that they’d survived the day, and having that certainness blown away had put them understandably in a bad mood.

Were it up to you, though, this wouldn’t turn into the bloodbath everyone was expecting.

While final preparations were made, you thought about just how you were going to handle the mines. The flamethrowers that had been brought so far had had their fuel finally expended. Come to think of it, the crude bombs the White Eyes lugged around might be astonishingly helpful. Even so, the worst situation would be if the faction occupying the mines, and your allies’ arms by extension, managed to trick you into a poor bargain instead of fighting. If Anya’s analysis of this particular enemy, a band of militia and miners led by a man called Hagan, was accurate, they were attempting to delay fighting so that the influence of their mining rivals would deteriorate through annihilation in the brutal city fighting. That would hardly do.

In the meantime, Anya had returned, holding one of the White Eyes’ slingbombs.

“’Ey, numbskull,” she called up to you as you loitered on top of your m/32’s turret, “These are neat things your folks have.” She noticed you eyeing the bomb skeptically, and she looked to it, then to you. “What, I’m not here to chuck this at you and bow you to kingdom fuck. I had them take the detonator out of this one and put something convincing in to replace it.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got an idea on how to win the mines over quick,” Anya said, tossing the tacky white brick of plastic explosive over in a hand casually, “But I want my plate back. Else I’ll have to be…creative.”

You could already guess what she was planning to do. With her connection to the militias and home guard, she could potentially arrange a meeting with Hagan’s command, perhaps even the man himself…then hold them all hostage with a bomb. Apparently she was uninterested in actually blowing herself up, though. Anya must’ve not thought much on this opposition’s willingness to call her bluff.

>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.
>I’ve already given that armor to another officer, I’m not going to strip it back off of them. You can be creative, whatever that means.
>I don’t think I trust you enough to walk into a potentially hostile compound with a bomb and walk out with everything I want. We’re doing this another way.
>Other?

>>2408261
>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

Time to discuss her contingency. She has a contingency plan, of course.

>>2408261
>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

>>2408261
>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

>>2408261
Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

>>2408261
>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

Promise me you’ll come back in one piece, I would hate to have to bring you to the victory parade in a bucket.

>>2408261
>>Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.

>>2408261
>>Fine then
We do need a backup plan if they call her bluff.

“Fine then. I’ll get your armor back, if you think you can really do this single handedly.” You said to Anya. It was a modest proposal, with little potential damage if it turned out not to work, after all. As much as you were curious of what “being creative” meant, it was simple enough to get Anya’s armor plate back.

“Great!” Anya said, clearing her throat afterwards. Was she so attached to a slab of metal, or was she more concerned about being shot? “My shoulders are already getting loose from the lack of weight.”

You didn’t recall exactly who you had given Anya’s breastplate to, so you got the smallest one back and hoped it was a fit. It was, thankfully, judging from Anya’s lack of criticism of your intelligence once you returned with it. You handed it to her (it was a heavy piece; it had to be, to stop modern pistol shot), and she put it on the dusty ground, before starting to strip off her tunic.

As she slipped the last of the sleeve off of her wrists, having whipped the republic tunic behind her, she glanced at you. “Hey. If you’re gonna watch, don’t just sit there with your thumb up your ass.” Anya roughly threw her jacket at you, which you caught with an awkward flurry of snatches. Next, Anya, started sliping her pink top town, which caused brief alarm.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, confused.

“Insurance,” Anya replied, as she dug bits of plastic explosive from one of the two bricks she had and put it somewhere below her neckline. “It doesn’t take much effort to hide some things from a prude, and you wouldn’t be able to take two steps around here without finding a girl who stuffs her bra anyways.”

“You wear a bra?” you let tumble out before you could stop yourself.

Anya gave you a withering stare. “What do you think, dummy? Is the plank the only woman you’ve met in your life?”

“I’ve met at least two planks, thank you very much.”

“Fuck you.” Anya said dismissively, “Anyways. Help me with my plate. It’s a pain to put on by myself.”

It required stern instruction, and often required that you only hold something in place, but you did your best in “helping,” particularly when it came to adjusting the tension holding the plates against both sides of Anya’s torso, where you heartily tugged on the belt to maybe squeeze some of Anya’s bad attitude out. All you got for your efforts was a condemnation of your physique, though it wasn’t as biting as it could be.

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“It’s missing a few pieces I’d like to have,” Anya said as she put her cap back on, looking briefly dissatisfied, then tilting it up with a smirk. “The whole set has pauldrons and faulds, which would look badass, but hey, the higher ups were cheap, should be happy with this.”

“No helmet?” you pursued that line of thought. “Or is there not enough important in there to protect it?”

“Spicy. Nah. Know how often you get shelled in this place? Not much. Nothing much comes from above, nobody wears the head protection. Also, the Ellowian helmet’s lame. Biggest mistake they ever made was changing from the Imperial copy they wore.”

“Imperial pieces do have a good aesthetic,” you agreed. “The model 18, or the model 26?”

“Which one’s the one with the…the trim, around the edges?”

“The 18. When they could still afford some showiness, before they did nothing but defend themselves against invasion after invasion, and had to cut whatever corners they could for the rank and file.”

“Fat lot of good it did them in the end,” Anya bemoaned, “You hear? Ellowie got wrapped up from both sides. Bosses were talking about if they could recruit from some of the fleeing units coming in, too.”

“Recruiting? Fleeing units?” you were struck with curiosity.

“Yeah. Can’t go north since the Netillians are there, can’t go east to Twaryi, and the guys to the south…Vynmark, shut their borders so the Twaryians wouldn’t get pissed at them. All the people running are going west, and from what I hear, plenty of army units got away. There’ll be some more gangs by the end of the year, I reckon, unless either of the invading boys wants to come in and clean ‘em up.”

“…You’re Ellowian, aren’t you?” you faintly recalled Anya’s last name.

She didn’t pay much mind to that comment. “Maybe. Maybe not. Might be a fake name mom came up with. Plenty of people do that here, sometimes they’re somebody else’s name, sometimes it’s just bullshit. Didn’t take a genius to figure out Hell’s family name wasn’t Gitt, for example, though I don’ think anybody would guess it was Vontrack.”

“Von Tracht.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyways.” You searched for the subject you’d forgotten you wanted to bring up while getting the armor plate back. “…Right, right. What’s your backup plan?”

“It’ll work,” Anya told you offhandedly. “They’re pretty fond of their skins. Not so greedy that they’ll blow up instead of losing a chance to jump up the pecking order.”

“What if they call your bluff, though,” you persisted. “What do you do? What if they don’t bring you before them at all?”

“If the latter happens I’m screwed,” Anya admitted, “But they’ll want to talk. I’m not famous, but I’m Home Guard. Home Guard that they think they can buy. If they think I’m not dangerous, though…I got a razor past your lot. That’s only a piece of the arsenal.”

>Really. Then you won’t mind a search? To see if you're not just overconfident?
>Fair enough, if you’re so sure about this lot.
>I can give some extra help, if you want. Would be better than you going in alone, or with just that. (Write in “insurance.”)
>Other?

>>2409201
>>Fair enough, if you’re so sure about this lot.

>>2409201
>Fair enough, if you’re so sure about this lot.

>>2409201
>>Fair enough, if you’re so sure about this lot.

>>2409201
>Fair enough, if you’re so sure about this lot.

>>2409201
>Really. Then you won’t mind a search? To see if you're not just overconfident?

More to tease than actually search.

>I can give some extra help, if you want. Would be better than you going in alone, or with just that. (Write in “insurance.”)

Emma. I know we don't want to bring her to the city proper because of bullshit wizard shenanigans but if Anya gets in trouble the parasite can at least yell to us that Anya is in trouble, or scout out the situation to see if it's just a trap.

Then over we start our assault on the city proper we can send her back to base so she won't be detected.

>>2409684
Hm, I guess. On one hand it's pretty convenient, but Emma is a child despite her terrible attitude, she shouldn't be near this kind of fighting. Dying the way she did was bad enough.

A thought crossed your mind of demanding a search to test her theory, in jest, but Anya seemed to be in a decent mood, and your interest in teasing her wasn’t great enough to risk her turning venomous again. Another thought was where Emma, another ill tempered young woman…or ghost, whatever she would be considered, was. As an immaterial thing incapable of being perceived by most, her utility in combat was undeniable, even if involving a child (even a dead one) in combat was questionable. However, she’d flitted off before the battle, and there was a strong possibility of a ghost-hunting soulbinder in Todesfelsen who would admittedly be better off not provoked.

Still. You’d hardly mind if she flew back around because of concern…or, failing that, boredom.

“Fair enough,” you finally decided, “If you’re so sure about this lot.”

“Damn sure.” Anya said energetically. “Guess we’d best get going, huh?”

The battalion was made battle ready, and final preparations finished. Enough weapons had been captured at this point that the Republic troopers, as well as those others attached to the battalion, were looking about as well equipped as the Death Heads had been; for obvious reasons. In fact, much of the troops had discarded their Geniburg stock in favor of the looted weaponry, if they could, and even the Blue Barb debtor-conscripts had become decently armed. It assuaged morale, if only some.

As Arek’s band still sat on the west side of the city, facing but not acting against the Republic Army that had just beaten it, the battalion would swing around south, passing elements of the rest of the army that were creeping around to slowly encircle Todesfelsen. From the south, the mines could be easily reached, and would be the first point to bound to, the only obstacles potentially being the small outposts that ringed the city.

…The mines for ore, that is. Not that any significant minefields were oriented south. The caravans to and from the Southern Cities head that way, Anya had explained matter of factly, and even the least headstrong caravaneer didn’t want to concern themselves even slightly with driving into hidden explosives when they were supposed to be in safe grounds.

When the matter of how Anya was going to ride in your tank was reminded to her, she had blandly accepted, though when she followed you into the turret, instead of sitting on you, she budged you over sharply with her hip and shoved you halfway over, seating herself on the part of the seat you’ve just been forced from.

“No,” you protested firmly.

“No what? I’m not sitting in your lap, dickhead.” Anya sneered, “You’re supposed to look out the top, yeah? How can you do that if I’m sitting on you?”

“You’re the one wearing armor,” you pointed out dully, to no avail.

“I’ve got no armor on my butt, maybe I’ll sit on your lap when I’ve got steel between us.”

“There’s plenty steel on the turret floor.”

“Nah.” Anya shut you down, “Staying up here.”

With your crew beginning to pile in, you had little time to act.

>Accept defeat. Mother taught you how to share, after all.
>Force the issue. She’s pushed you around quite enough.
>Throw Anya out of the tank. She doesn’t need to ride inside.
>Maybe she wouldn’t sit on you, but you’d certainly sit on her.
>Other?

>>2410262
>Accept defeat. Mother taught you how to share, after all.
This is fine, not like we'll get into a fight like this. If we do, it'll be easy to hipcheck her off.

>>2410262
>Accept defeat. Mother taught you how to share, after all.

We shall humor the good lady for now but if this attitude continues I fear she will have to admire the rear of our tank from the length of a tow cable.

>>2410262
>>Other?
Hoverha- I mean, sling our arm around her. We're battle buddies /and/ seat buddies now! We also must protect her from falling off, of course, when she is sitting precariously on the edge.

>>2410262
>Accept defeat. Mother taught you how to share, after all.

No need to get into a slap fight right before a big battle.

Maybe I just want Anya sitting next to us the whole ride.

>>2410262
>>Accept defeat. Mother taught you how to share, after all.

Anya was very irritating to be around, but you’d let her have her way, for now. Mother did teach the merits of sharing to you, after all, even if the person you were sharing with was doing everything to be a pain, including jutting her elbow into your ribs. Though, should you perhaps be closer? To better balance on the seat, after all.

No. What an odd thought. Anya made you feel rather uncomfortable in more ways than one. Had Maddalyn seen something you hadn’t earlier, when needling you about your preferences in women? Of course not, how completely and utterly ridiculous.

“My fiancée is terrified of drowning, you know,” you said absentmindedly, reminding yourself of the nature of Anya’s bullying.

“Come on,” Anya replied defensively, though you hadn’t really been talking to her, “You saying I could have known that? Seemed pretty fine before getting dunked, enough to talk some real good shit. If you think chicks don’t banter, you’ve got your head in your ass. What if I told you right now I had a deathly fear of getting punched in the face? Can I hang that over your head forever?”

“…I’m sorry that I punched you.” You apologized, perhaps against what some others would think to do. “My fiancée had been taken from me, tortured, and I still wanted to hurt people for it, I suppose. I shouldn’t have hit you, no matter what insults or filth you spat.”

Anya seemed almost surprised you said that, and though she’d been pushing her elbow into your side earlier, she now lay her hands flat against her thighs. “Uh….alright. Sure.” As if she didn’t know how to respond. “I’m not sorry for…I mean I…God damn it, whatever.” She scratched at her eyebrow as she said this, hunching forward.

“You seem comfortable,” Stein said as he entered, while Jorgen came in from the other side.

“Faaht yuu’re hetched, commandant,” Jorgen heaved up a shell and propped it in a ready rack.

“What?” Anya asked blankly, apparently not used to Jorgen’s accent. Were it that his were the worst of the lot.

The enemy would have certainly known that you were moving, once you started; the dust cloud behind the unit was a familiar sight, almost looking like the beginnings of another storm as you all headed south.

It was pleasant to be able to speak with your platoon over the radio again, you noted while there were still things to be pleased about that didn’t involve avoiding death. The Death Head radios, while of a cheaper sort than Strossvald’s, still seemed to function fine enough. Von Igel was still shaken and had to be prompted to speak and give updates on his crew and tank condition; you hoped he would firm up again by the time you hit the city. You could confidently say than none of you were truly green anymore, especially not after the last battle, but it was understandable that junior lieutenants were less rigid than graduate lieutenants. Those who received a promotion out the gate, after all, received them for good reason, though cadet double promotion was a recent phenomenon, as the army expanded.

That gave rise to what Honnrieg had said of you back in Strossvald, soon after you’d just met, concerning how you had “the look.” Something you’d rather not believe, but if it was part of how you were able to keep it together, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he hinted at it being.

Anya had a rough idea of where the small dugout outposts were that you’d run into as you moved towards the city, and you were prepared for opposition, suicidal as it might seem to stand against an entire (reduced) mechanized force. You’d even ordered that the formation be close order and tight, to more thoroughly intimidate anybody you encountered. There was no enemy heavy artillery, so what was the risk?

It had all been for naught, though. You encountered five of the pickets; all had been empty, abandoned. The grenadiers happily looted whatever could be taken, including pawing over the one sign at one dugout that there had been anything besides a general abandonment of the lines; a pair of corpses, one that lay face down on the ground, a pool of blood under where their face was, either cruelly betrayed from behind or executed for whatever reason. The other had been sprayed down with point blank machine gun fire and turned into a disgusting mess of pulp from head to belly. The ugly sight didn’t keep a White Eye from yanking up the sleeves of the tied hands and pocketing a cheap looking wristwatch.

“Huh.” Anya observed, pushing her way out the top beside you, rather crowding the opening. It would have been nicer if her steel breastplate didn’t push roughly against you. Why had you given that thing back so early, anyways?

“Somebody you knew?” you asked.

“Not really. Seemed like an asshole, guess his people agreed.”

“How would you have fared in his place?”

Anya thought for a moment. “Not like I was popular with the guys, didn’t like that somebody shorter’n them was their boss for a second, but they did what they were told. Don’t think I was dumb enough that I’d push it if it looked like I was losing my place, though, especially considerin’, c’mon, I wouldn’t just get shot.”

“Do you think that’s what happened? Overstepping his authority?” These were mercenary brigands, you figured. In a chaotic situation such as the events of today, as well as the building tensions before that, mutiny could practically be guaranteed.

“Who knows? One got shot in the back of the dome, the other got hosed against the wall while bound up. One of those takes one guy with a pistol, the other needs the mob.”

“Not the first time you’ve seen this?”

“Nah.” Anya replied nonchalantly, “When I was with the Hogs, same gang war I got the face trench from, I heard a guy get his fuckin’ guts cut out by a few guys holding him down, one with a knife. ‘Cause our tank was parked outside and they wouldn’t come out. Guy didn’t want to surrender, so his mates pulled out his belly and left him there. We didn’t even know what happened for sure til I went in to check later and found him in a pile. Shouldn’t have had lunch early that day.”

“Judge above.”

“Don’t gimme that, not like you don’t expect it when you sign up for the job, yeah? Shit happens.”

You weren’t sure if Anya was relating this to you to warm you to her, or because she was proud of her history. Jorgen was a veteran crewman, but wasn’t very forthcoming with war stories; the Yaegir claimed that he’d only recount them if he was falling down drunk.

The source of the pillar of smoke only became more apparent as you continued onward, and the flames became visible too, scouring what appeared to be the towns outside of the mines themselves, which were dug into shallow hills, heavy equipment sprawling over the rises.

When asked, Anya had explained to you that the miners lived in crude shantytowns in and around the more sturdily build administrative places and storage. They were tightly packed together, and fires were hardly unknown, but they were usually controlled before a blaze of this proportion began. At the rate it appeared to have spread from a distance, there wouldn’t be anything left of the mining complex afterwards that wasn’t in or around the shaft itself, and the fire also looked like it was spreading quickly into the city, the tinderbox of the mining town burning hot enough to gift all around with its deluges of sparks and ragged, floating bits of smolder.

The distance to the town was closed, and the scent of charcoal had become overwhelming. Through your binoculars, as the battalion stopped momentarily, you spied your foes, potentially. There was roughly fifty who lingered outside of the burning town (surely more were in more threatening places, or within), out of reach of the fire, and looked as though they had little interest in stopping the inferno. Anya confirmed they were under Hagan when you relayed to her their unifying aspect of yellow kerchiefs about their necks. They seemed to have armed themselves heavily from the stocks they stole from their fellow miner and militia factions, the ones whom had nominally sided with the Republic in a revolt, or so you heard. They’d certainly noticed you, though they hadn’t taken up firm defensive positions yet, nor laid down in their hastily constructed fortifications. None of them had telescopes or other equipment; perhaps they weren’t sure if you were the Death Heads or if you were the Republic. Perhaps they thought, like others had, that the only people who even had lots of tanks around these parts were the Death Heads or the Iron Hogs, and you didn’t look like the latter. Illger’s detachment trailed behind the front aspect.

>These are the enemy. Send a clear message; have everybody move forward, have the guns and mortars prepared, and begin softening them up from afar. Anya can move in after the initial bombardment, not directly from you, of course, but slinking in from elsewhere, to pose as negotiating for a city faction, perhaps?
>Go forward under a white flag. Maybe they can be persuaded to end this diplomatically, and Anya won’t even have to walk in with a bomb.
>Send Anya forward as a representative of the battalion. Her plan involved such, after all, who minded if who she was with was clear? Maybe it would be more convincing that way.
>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.
>Other?

>>2410935
>>Go forward under a white flag. Maybe they can be persuaded to end this diplomatically, and Anya won’t even have to walk in with a bomb.

>>2410935
>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.

If they are not making moves against us, we probably have some time to sit at a distance.

This also gives us more of a chance to see if there is anything else we can pressure them with. Ideally we would be able to have both Anya take their leaders hostage and our tanks provide some positive reinforcement at around the same time to help convince our friends of the best course of action.

>>2410943
Sorry changing my vote to
>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.
Didn't see it just now.

>>2410935
>>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.

>>2410935
>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.

>>2410935
>Let them be for now. Make contact with the factions aligned to you, first, and get news from them before acting here.

>>2410935
>>Go forward under a white flag. Maybe they can be persuaded to end this diplomatically, and Anya won’t even have to walk in with a bomb.
We need to get this blaze under control before it spreads to the rest of the city. Otherwise, we’ll be fighting over who gets to be king over a pile of ashes.

>>2411975
I thought this was still outside the walls in which case it can be ignored.

Any idea on how to contain a blaze like that without access to modern firefighting equipment? It sounds like something you can't even waterbomb, a bucket brigade won't stand a chance. Perhaps razing buildings could stop the spread but you still have to remove the flammable material...

>>2412557
We need a long stretch of flat barren terrain to act as a firebreak, so we’ll just get Anya to lie down in front of the fire.

File: 1273446921992.jpg (7 KB, 198x198)

7 KB JPG

>>2412717

There wasn’t enough information to go in yet, you thought as you looked at this new enemy. From what you’d heard, this faction had concentrated themselves in this hiding hole, anyways. It shouldn’t have been hard to find the people who really were on your side.

On this presupposition, you led a company of troops and tanks into the city; your own tanks accompanying one of the three companies of White Eyes. The huge difference between their garb and the uniforms of the Death Heads, you hoped, would make anybody looking to accidentally commit friendly fire think twice about what they were aiming at.

If you encountered anybody as you made your way deeper into the outskirts, however, you didn’t know. Wherever you went seemed to turn into a ghost town, and you didn’t want to look hostile by breaking into buildings and clearing them in search of people who were supposed to be your friends. This grew tiring, and the company instead headed towards what you deemed to be more fruitful hunting territory; to wit, the sounds of battle that encroached more and more into the silent territories.

Your journey towards the sound of conflict had only just started when your m/32 rounded the corner directly into the midst of a siege, surrounding a sturdy, if old, two story stone construction marked like an inn. They must not have been in a standoff, since no sound of combat warned you that this battle was even taking place.

“What in the fuck!?” You heard one of the attackers cry out as they saw your armor, as well as the equally surprised White Eyes striding alongside it. They were all in grey-brown jackets, with blackened steel round helmets, and they were well armed.

You retreated back into the tank. “Anya,” you said breathlessly, “Who are these people?”

Anya stood up and peered through the cupola’s viewports. “Expies. Probably south, coming from some favor for the Suns.”

“In New Nauk, if you will!”

“Shoot them!” Anya hissed, “Anybody who’s an Expie ain’t for you!”

No action had to be taken by you yet, though. The confused pause had allowed Von Walen’s tank, a captured Nfk-5t, to come up beside you with another squad of White Eyes. A cry from some place in your lines announced who you were, and the besieging force fled, melting into the cover they had erected and slipping out of your grasp, despite the pursuit of your own infantry. They were busily occupying the positions the “Expies” had abandoned as you popped out again and surveyed the situation. Only a small portion of the forces who had accompanied you had been seen by this enemy; yet they fled before you. Perhaps this meant that they were still making probing attacks, yet if that was the case, what was important enough about their target that they had surrounded it instead of avoiding it?

Your answer came soon enough as a young man stumbled out of the inn, unarmed and shivering in but a sleeveless undershirt and trousers; he couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

“You’re the Republic?” he called out, “You’re here to help us?”

He was snatched up by White Eyes, who took him to Von Walen, and then to you, after Von Walen rudely reminded them who was who.

“Judge above, we thought you would never come!” the boy stammered, “We might have some hope after all…C-come, our leader is inside…if he’s not, well, dead…”

As your group spread out and assumed defensive positions in the area, now kicking in doors to use the domiciles as entrenchment, you hoisted yourself out of the tank, and followed the militia youth in, accompanied by the first White Eyes you could grab for an impromptu escort.

“About bloody goddamn time!” was the first thing shouted at you as you entered the place. Your critic was a man about your age, with a steel helmet painted white; a miner’s scuttle, from the looks of it. He had a machine gun of reasonably modern look, perhaps taken from enemies earlier, but you could see the belt hanging freely from it had only around a dozen shots left before it went empty, and the man looked to have no reserves for the weapon on his person. “Where the hell have you been!?”

You were too confused to do anything but look down your nose at the offensive fellow.

“Henry!” the younger one leading you in scolded, “They’re here to help! Aren’t you glad we’re not dead?”

“Yeah,” the gunner bristled, “Yeah, I guess I am. Too bad Gildrman can’t say the same.”

The boy faltered. “Gildrman? What happened?”

“Shot from earlier finally did him. Went up and checked when the Republic showed up and scared off the Expies.”

“I…” the young man toned glumly, “…Damn…”

“Yeah. You know what that means. I get to be the glorious leader of our ragged little band, for now.” He called out names, next, “Hoi, Kowalski! Muller! Get Ubach and get over here!”

All of the men called were stout figured miners, wearing either bandannas or the same mining helmets as their new leader.

“Well, Republic Men, allow me to introduce: Copper Group, Team Ten, or at least, what’s left of it. Probably what’s left of Copper Group, maybe even the whole Miner’s and Home Guard Coalition, if we’re as screwed as I thought we were. Honestly, if you didn’t show up, I’d’ve thrown in the goddamn towel soon as I heard Gildrman kicked the bucket. Lucky you, a minute too soon for all this to stop being my problem, after getting a bullet in the neck for treason.”

“There’s still everybody upstairs…” the youngest said, his name still unheard for whatever reason.

“Nobody up for a tussle,” one that you guessed was Kowalski said darkly.

“What happened?” Was all you could ask.

“Where to start? First, Hagen and Gold Group turn traitor on us, storm the armories and lock up the weapons, then we’ve got lapdogs and Expies coming for us with their hands in their pants. I thought we were holding out, but turns out, the slime boss of Copper Group says, No hope, boys, we’re turning ourselves in to Hagen and sitting cozy imprisoned til all this blows over! Half of everybody follows him. Other half can’t hold the lines. What you’re looking at is our headquarters. Second one, that is. I couldn’t tell you how everybody else is doing, cause we got cut off from messengers before they even surrounded us. Judge only knows where Birdie is, hope they didn’t get their hands on the poor girl, since they came in right after we sent her out.”

“We can salvage this,” you reassured the man, who seemed to have about as much hope as a cockroach under a boot.

“Yeah? How many do you have?”

“About three hundred.”

“…Maybe.” Henry relented some, “Maybe, then. Wait, you’re not all the Republic Army, yeah?”

“Of course not. What kind of army only has one battalion?”

“One what?”

“Never mind.” You may have had some questions to ask of this man, before you turned this disaster around.

>So judging from the names, you’re copper miners, and Hagan’s group are gold miners. Are there iron miners, or coal miners, whoever else in your coalition?
>Can you all still fight? You’re not looking pretty. We can organize a withdrawal and start from square one.
>How can I trust you? Your people already sold out, what if you’re part of an elaborate scheme? (Risky)
>Other questions/actions?

>>2412717
She likes them scrambled, with cheese and a lot of pepper.

>>2412907
>So judging from the names, you’re copper miners, and Hagan’s group are gold miners. Are there iron miners, or coal miners, whoever else in your coalition?
>>Can you all still fight? You’re not looking pretty. We can organize a withdrawal and start from square one.

>>2412987
Supporting

>>2412907
>So judging from the names, you’re copper miners, and Hagan’s group are gold miners. Are there iron miners, or coal miners, whoever else in your coalition?
>How many of you are here?
>What's the last known positions of your allies?

>>2413281
>>2412987
These

>So judging from the names, you’re copper miners, and Hagan’s group are gold miners. Are there iron miners, or coal miners, whoever else in your coalition?
>>2413281
Supporting
>Where is Hagan’s headquarters?
>How many men are left upstairs? Any wounded?
>How far away is the armory? Any idea where they would hold half of Copper Group?

If this is the Miner’s and Home Guard Coalition HQ, the question is should we reinforce it to help coordinate resistance or focus our forces to press forward?

Ok I'm alive. Sheesh, I'm super off my game this thread.

Writing update.

“So, judging from the names, you’re copper miners,” you guessed with incredible effort, “and Hagan’s group are gold miners. Who else is there? Is there an Iron Group, Coal Group, and such?”

“Yeah.” Henry affirmed, “Well, sort of. Instead of Copper the others are NorEast and East Down.”

Odd, but you weren’t particularly curious as to the etymology, and more that there were other groups.

“So how many of you are left here?” you pursued, “What about wounded?”

“We should be getting out of here.” One of Henry’s cohorts intoned.

“Nobody wise will interrupt us.” Came your reassurance.

Henry looked at you, then out the window skeptically. “You’re looking at everybody left who can really fight.” Five then, if you counted the young man, who didn’t even look old enough to have graduated secondary school. “Probably about twenty five hurt upstairs. The innkeeper’s looking after ‘em.”

Goodness, there was hardly any of them left! Did they even have any semblance of a line? “Do you know where your allies are? The Copper Group fighters you talked about, there’s more of you than just here, of course?”

All of the militiamen looked at each other with grim, set faces. The boy was the one who spoke. “We…haven’t heard from them, in a while. Everybody was running out of stuff to shoot with even then, who knows? Didn’t you run into anybody on your way here?”

If you had, you didn’t know it. They could have been hiding, certainly. Not that you had any time to be searching every nook and cranny for militia fighters whose ability to even engage in battle was suspect, both because of morale and the critical state of ammunition supply. Your own troops didn’t even have endless ammunition, so there was little question as to how to pursue this. Any scattered local allies would have to come back and fight of their own volition.

“No,” was all you stated to that effect. “We encountered nobody up to you, except for the people around the mine.”

“Hagan’s goons. You shoot them?” Henry asked. The incredulous look you have answered that. “No? We can fix that, you know.”

“Later,” you said, “Where are the other fighter groups?”

Henry explained to you the situation along with the locations of each group. Evidently, you’d run into the westernmost group. Supposedly, the Noreasters and East Down fighters were to the east, as well as in the fort to a certain point. An initial offensive had seen the central fortress seized, but a counterattack by enemy factions had severed lines of communication and knocked the rebel lines into pockets. With Hagan having locked up the armories soon after the initial push, the rebels had been in no state to resist, though a brief offensive was attempted in order to try and capture another armory. This, of course, failed. Home Guard armories had been seized by returned expeditionary forces, so even the more militarized of the Home Guard and Miner’s Coalition had languished for lack of weaponry. Only the disunity of even the Expeditionary forces and loyalists had kept the upstarts from being trampled entirely.

You knew the armories the rebels had intended to use were locked away in the mines Hagan now held, but could those underground structures hold the prisoners, too?
“Any idea where they would hold half of your whole group, however many that is?” you asked.

“Around a hundred. And yeah,” one of Henry’s cohorts, the same doubtful one from earlier said, “They could shove them in the mines, easy. ‘specially if they cut their throats and stack ‘em.”

A gruesome picture you’d rather not encounter.

“Can you even still fight?” you asked, to then be glared at, one fighter waving two rifle bullets at you in a self-explanatory gesture. “I see. If you can’t hold here, we can organize a withdrawal and start from square one.”

The fighters all looked at one another fiercely, then to their guns hopelessly.

“We…” the boy said awkwardly, “Aren’t you going to take care of everything now?”

The headquarters was a solid forward point, and your troops hadn’t run into fierce enemy resistance. You could make a stand here and attack, but did you really want to do that without any allies providing any support whatsoever? This was their town, after all, not yours. Was this progress worth the potential risk going forward?

>Of course we’ll take care of everything. We’ll rescue your friends too, from the mines. There’s a plan to get you all your weapons. It’s all turning around now.
>Unfortunately, you were screwed here and I don’t see us doing much better if we’re forced to hold here. We came here to take the city, not hold onto a corner. We’re leaving for the other major group you said was still holding to the east.
>Other?

>>2417760
>Any prisoners are likely in the least danger now. We’re leaving for the other major group you said was still holding to the east.

>>2417760
seconding
>>2417781

>>2417760
>Of course we’ll take care of everything. We’ll rescue your friends too, from the mines. There’s a plan to get you all your weapons. It’s all turning around now.
Gotta give them some hope, let’s go smash in some Death Heads!
We should move to relieve Noreasters and East Down, gather our strength, cut off and destroy the enemy’s extend lines. Bloody Hagan’s nose before sending worth our “diplomat”

>>2417760
This >>2417781

“Of course we’ll take care of everything,” you said confidently, “Though not from here.” Ironically enough, any prisoners were in a place where they could wait. “We’ll pull out of here and reinforce the others you were talking about, and then counterattack. Once we have a more solid position, the tide will turn.”

“Been a right tide of piss up til now,” one of the fighters mulled bitterly.

“We’ve come with a tide of steel,” you countered. Theorists said to not hold contempt for an enemy, but who could criticize your current bravado? “Gather up your wounded and whatever can be moved, we’ll truck you out with us.”

That was all the encouragement needed; a valiant retreat promised, the fighters got busy with extracting the wounded and moving to your vehicles, which had moved up as your people entrenched themselves locally. No attacks had come; all weapons fire was coming from elsewhere, which could be good or bad. You could say with confidence, however, that you were certainly the most heavily concentrated unit locally, if all enemies you’d encountered had elected not to tangle with your tanks or their “panzergrenadiers.”

With the dispositions being as they were, and thinking of your earlier success against dispersed enemies, you concluded that the best plan of action was to sweep straight across the curve of the city outskirts, and plow through any light enemy concentrations you encountered, in order to make it to your newfound allies as soon as possible rather than moving out and back around the mine. There were arguments for doing that instead of moving through disadvantageous terrain, but you were here to take the city, anyways; it would be more ground cleared for less time, and the amount of enemies that could obstruct such a plan appeared low.

Also, if you moved back out past the mines again, if Hagan and his men were in contact with the local loyalists, the maneuvering around and past them would betray your intentions. The Gold Group miners under Hagan had been content to sit and watch for now, but if your retreat sparked an offensive, that would be no good.

The battalion formation going east-northeast was a mess, but moving through urban terrain appeared to prompt that no matter what. Your position with 2nd Company, the deepest into the city, meant that you expected enemy contacts not just forward but from the flank. 3rd Company was to your southeast, and 1st to your rear. The headquarters company was between all of you, and there was no shortage of complaints from the attached artillery platoon about their inability to see anything, let alone set up their guns to fire. You hoped to use the terrain around the mines for them to set up on, once you’d driven Hagan out of there. In the midst of the clustered buildings, they were of little use, and they knew it.

There was nothing more uncomfortable than having a powerful weapon and being unable to use it; you sympathized plenty well, especially since Todesfelsen’s streets out here in the outskirts were particularly claustrophobic, for how close to the open hills they were.

Not that you lacked for artillery assets. The fort itself had heavy guns, and reports from Battalion HQ nagged for the opportunity to use them. Evidently, since rebel command had been falling apart outside of the fort, intelligence of where they would best be fired was severely lacking, though they’d apparently fired during your battle in the storm; you hadn’t noticed them among the other sounds of battle.

1st Company reported being shelled by inaccurate, but dense mortar fire. Apparently your presence had been noted. A reminder to keep moving.

Anya practically stood outside of the tank for how high she was above the cupola; she’d chosen to take the job of looking around, instead of you, while you concerned yourself with the company and battalion movements. It must have been a bad habit, you thought, from being on a tank with no cupola at all.

“You can just peek out of the top,” you advised her on your technique.

“I’m wearing plate,” Anya sniffed at you, “’sides, if I get popped at, I want to shoot back. Easier to do further out. I’ve been shot before.”

“Me too.”

“Where? Show me.”

You pointed, thinking it obvious why you couldn’t rip open your shirt. If you were in a situation where she had the luxury of pressing you on the matter, you’d be in trouble, since Maddalyn’s spell had healed you perfectly.

Anya, uncharacteristically, seemed impressed. “Hah. And you’re not dead.” Oh. Sarcasm. Anya’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of rattling gunfire ahead. “Damn! They’ve finally run into something, and we’re back here!” She kicked at you, “Come on! This is a tank, not a telephone booth, yeah?”

Which one of us is in command here? You thought irritably, but urged your driver forward anyways. Not that you expected significant opposition.

The fire only increased as your platoon sped forward through the narrow streets, only wide enough in some places to fit one tank at a time, to get to the new frontline. The volume doubled, quadrupled, and it was clear that you’d stumbled into something significant. Or an impromptu fireworks celebration. Anya was confident that it was the former, from the way she slid back down into the turret and shoved you off your seat; an accident, most likely, but she didn’t apologize.

“Hey, hey, back in the saddle,” she tapped your shoulder with your boot as you grumbled obscenities on your way back up. It would be the last bit of horseplay before you dove back into the fray.

The conflict looked to have started at the mouth of a marketplace square, still stuffed full of booths and tables, and you were shortly briefed by a White Eye who knocked on the tank before you went all the way down. His summary was roughly worded and lacking in precise detail, but told all that needed to be said. This market was crawling with Death Heads and loyalist mob. A quick check with 3rd Company confirmed that there was no similar concentration in their way; though the one before you was evidently expanding to meet your breadth, with reinforcement was all but obvious as the conflict jumped from a series of skirmishes to a smoky, cacophonous battlefield in but the span of a few minutes.

The stalls were close, and you wouldn’t be able to roll far out without becoming immersed in the colorful canvas roofs and low walls, both of wood and more permanent stone. The square was plenty wide enough that if you moved forward, all of your platoon could get out and help, but that would mean all of you would be close to that dense cover, which as structures collapsed, only became more difficult to see into.

Yet your aid was obviously expected.

>Stay in the alley and provide what support you can; it’s too early in this to act riskily with your own assets.
>You have to commit fully and get the upper hand as soon as possible; move the platoon up and form a line in front of the market, a base of fire to support pushes.
>You had no idea who or what was in there, but they were hostile, and you had indirect arms. Range in the howitzers and mortars, including ones from the fort; the angle would be steep, but this was a prime target for artillery bombardment.
>Other?

Battalion Assets are here:
>>2408247
Just so you know what you have to work with, potentially, if you want to call anything up. If something's not clear as to what it is, I'll answer questions about it.

>>2418371
>This market was crawling with Death Heads and loyalist mob.

Just to confirm, loyalist in this case would be on the side of the Death heads right?

In which case
>You had no idea who or what was in there, but they were hostile, and you had indirect arms. Range in the howitzers and mortars, including ones from the fort; the angle would be steep, but this was a prime target for artillery bombardment.
And follow up
>You have to commit fully and get the upper hand as soon as possible; move the platoon up and form a line in front of the market, a base of fire to support pushes.
After the bombardment

If they are allied, dont use the heavier guns in the fort and just use the mortars

>>2418397
>Just to confirm, loyalist in this case would be on the side of the Death heads right?

That is the case, yes; factions who are against absorption into and/or unconditional surrender to the Republic.

>>2418397
Works for me, hopefully the arty won't kill us.

We need to keep them from digging in permanently, if they see they are hopelessly outgunned hopefully they'll vamoose.

tanq, how much ammo does the fort have for artillery? Should we be saving them for something more important even if the fort isn't getting attacked?

>>2418502
>tanq, how much ammo does the fort have for artillery? Should we be saving them for something more important even if the fort isn't getting attacked?

While the ammunition might be of varying age and sourcing, there's no real shortage of it. The Death Heads tragically had no real opportunities to use them for anything more than practice, it seems, before the guns were stolen out from under them.

>>2418371
>>2418397
Supporting
>You had no idea who or what was in there, but they were hostile, and you had indirect arms. Range in the howitzers and mortars, including ones from the fort; the angle would be steep, but this was a prime target for artillery bombardment.
Hope they triple check their math, don’t want any shells falling on us instead.

>You have to commit fully and get the upper hand as soon as possible; move the platoon up and form a line in front of the market, a base of fire to support pushes.
Have 2nd company support our push and prevent any enemy troops with explosives or anti-tank grenades from getting close.
1st and 3rd company should swing around, cut them off, and encircle them from the rear. Let’s squeeze them like a vice.

>>2418625
>>2418397
Supporting

>>2418397
Supporting

In the academy, no, even before war theory, in basic training, you had learned that artillery was king of the battlefield. An uncaring, tyrannical king whose merest frown cowed the masses. You’d somehow largely avoided being subjected to it through your career, yes, but you knew how fearsome it could be, even rather light artillery like the mortars that rained on your head earlier this very day. It was an awful foe, since it wasn’t something that could be struck at, or parried, but merely endured pitifully. Yet now, you could call it your ally.

“You,” the call was to a White Eye nearby. When the unit was cobbled together from many, then split apart and reformed again within a day, all names became some variant of you. “Have everybody keep in cover, nobody should be further up than this line of houses. I’m calling in some big guns. This marketplace is going to become a vacant lot.”

“Scuse me? What?” He flinched as a stray bullet took the corner off of the wall he hid behind.

Anya jumped up and pushed you over. “Don’t what, meathead! Tell everybody to get their heads down or they’ll get ‘em blown off!” That more direct phrasing was more motivating, apparently, as the cloaked soldier fled from the shouting of the shrewish woman beside you. Anya shifted next you as she whipped around at another White Eye. “What are you doing? Are you deaf? Spread the word!”

While Anya was busy exercising what must have been incredibly spacious lungs, you got to work actually making the artillery strike a reality, only for a massive problem to dawn upon you with incredible speed.

“We’ve no proper maps,” you muttered under your breath. No maps with lines and accurate proportion, no grid coordinates; you’d have to provide a vague description then let the artillerists puzzle it out. These weren’t trained gunners, either. More and more this was looking like it could go poorly, but you were in cover. How bad could it be? You at least had a clear landmark the heavy guns could aim for.
While the bombardment was being organized, and during the event itself, it was planned for 1st and 3rd companies to come up around you and 2nd company’s flank, to squeeze this for like a vice, turning the square into a killing field as it was fired into much like shooting at fish in a barrel. Or in this case, a box. Needlessly elaborate, some might say, but why not have your first battle go as flawlessly as some of those in the storm had? As long as they weren’t the sort that had reduced your four company armor battalion to three.

File: tcq_townbattle1.png (570 KB, 1500x1286)

570 KB PNG

One minute passed after your request, then two. The third came, and you grew concerned. A check up on Hiedler and HQ came with an annoyed shot back demanding patience; the guns and mortars were still being set up, and range further debated over, despite your estimate having been provided. The estimates from the fort had been different, and they were waiting to coordinate their bombardment with that of your forces. At least the companies were moving.

That is, until 1st company hit their own concentration of troops. It wasn’t as large, from the initial report, but it was through buildings and alleys instead of a large square, so progress had slowed as fighters cleared paths for the mobile equipment, steadily moving through homes and business, putting the pace down to a crawl. Waiting for them to get into position to exert pressure on your opponent’s flank would be a significant delay.

2nd Company was feeling their way to the square’s southeast edge when Hiedler finally, finally announced the bombardment’s commencement. Much longer, and the Death Heads would have gained the confidence to attack you. During the wait, they had already exploited your troops’ perceived passivity to fix your fellows within cover. If they were to launch an attack now, though, their tactics would have been a poor choice for what was coming.

The booming of guns echoed. A pleasant change from what you’d been taught; that the shells would impact before you ever heard the sound of their departure. A mercy granted by the high angle of the shooting. You had closed the turret hatch long before the whistling came.

>roll 2 sets of 2d2 for deviation direction, and 2 sets of 2d100 for degree. Skill mod for d reduction is 10 for the battalion artillery, and 30 for the fort artillery.
>Any other actions you want to take can be proposed as well

The deviation grid is ready for use, but it's not visible here because..well, since the size of the grid is "the whole map", and the targeted points aren't the center, well, you can probably figure it out.

Rolled 1, 1 = 2 (2d2)

>>2419267

>>2419267
Also, as a note, the grey detah head marker isn't where a particular concentration is or anything; they're all throughout that big grey block that is the marketplace.

Rolled 71, 1 = 72 (2d100)

>>2419267

Rolled 2, 2 = 4 (2d2)

>>2419267

Rolled 12, 81 = 93 (2d100)

>>2419267

Rolled 2, 2, 1, 2, 2, 1, 2, 1, 1 = 14 (9d2)

Oh boy where those scattered is...interesting.

Anyways, rolling for scatter direction and radius here, direction first.

For both, first three are light 6cm howitzers, next three are mortars, last are fort 15cms.

Also artillery scatter is sort of being made up on the spot so this'll be tons of dice. Don't worry about them, I'll have the picture of what happened up when the update comes.

Rolled 1, 1, 2, 2, 1, 1, 2, 2, 1 = 13 (9d2)

...Boy, I'm really not firing on all cylinders. Or even a quarter. Second set of d2s, needed 18 earlier, not 9. Three for each set of guns

Rolled 18, 12, 8, 12, 14, 20, 17, 15, 10, 6, 13, 6, 13, 7, 7, 12, 9, 18 = 217 (18d20)

And scatter.

Come on tell us man, are we dying or what!

Rolled 2, 3, 2 = 7 (3d3)

One last set of rolls.

Fort 15cm shells have a one in three chance of being incendiary chemical munitions, useful for spreading hunks of burning love. Due to being old and/or not caring what the outgoing shells are, the current gun crews don't differentiate or tell the difference.

On a roll of 3 the rolling shell is Willy Peter.

>>2419612
You'll see soon.

File: tcq_townbattle2.png (468 KB, 1300x1114)

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The first hits were the shots from your own battalion. They whizzed, shrieked, and came down in the marketplace as could be expected. From the towers of debris that appeared, it was too far to the east to be useful to you, but it could help out the flanking 3rd company. If the heavy howitzers from the fort hit further to the west…

Ah, there they were, you thought as you heard their savage shriek. Though perhaps a bit…too…close for your liking.

BRRH-KOOOM

The ground shook as a fifteen centimeter shell exploded in the midst of your platoon. Your ears rang even from inside the tank, and protected from the shockwave, but the second shell striking-

BRRH-KOOOMSSHH

It sounded…different. The third shell impacted somewhere in the buildings to your five o’clock, and only one shell each was going out for this barrage; you could pop up…only to be forced straight back down again, as you saw white-yellow sparks searing out of a dense white cloud where the second shell had struck, which was billowing out in the narrow street. A few stray clumps bounced around still, and you peered back out at them; they looked brighter than the sun, and even peering indirectly hurt to watch.

Rolled 2, 2 + 1 = 5 (2d3 + 1)

What was the damage, you thought immediately. You checked with your platoon, commanding a cowering White Eye outside to check on the tank platoon behind you that had been struck with what was assuredly incendiary chemical munitions, the pluming white smoke belying the burning chemicals scattered about underneath, onto mostly open topped tanks…

>first dice is for striking your platoon, second is for 2nd Company's second platoon, behind you

>>2419691
Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME, FORT!?

Rolled 49, 64, 76, 7, 21 = 217 (5d100)

Now for potential damage then.

Higher is bad. DC for yours is 70, DC for allies behind is 30. 2 first are your platoon, three latter are friendlies behind.

“Nobody’s hurt from us it looks like, boss,” Hans said breathlessly, “Just shook up.”

A miracle. You could only hope you deserved it. What of the platoon behind you, though? They were impossible to see through the smoke, though it was thinning as it spread. Then came an ugly sound, one you’d been too far away to hear most of the time; the sound of a human being burning to death. From behind, in the smoke, emanated the wretched squealing of a struck crewman being burned from the inside out by phosphorous.

Even in that light, the White Eye returned, terrified, and said that only one tank had been filled with the sticky burning globs; by pure luck, the other members of the platoon had avoided being doused with burning particles, at least with enough to slaughter them outright. Pure luck.

“Boss,” Hans said lowly, “HQ wants to know what corrections they need to make to their shells. I’m of the mind to tell them to fuck themselves.”

>Relay that exact message. Then correct by…(Write in corrections)
>The fort can cease their “assistance.” As for the others…(Adjustments input)
>This was a risk and we took it. Criticism can come later. We need to be constructive for now. (Put in adjustments.)
>Patch me directly to the fort. I want to tell them how on target their aim was.
>Other?

>>2419730
>>Patch me directly to the fort. I want to tell them how on target their aim was.

>>2419730
>>Patch me directly to the fort. I want to tell them how on target their aim was.
>Let’s give precise, exact detail on how much they need to unfuck their aim. They nearly stopped this rescue operation before it even began.

>>2419730
>Patch me directly to the fort. I want to tell them how on target their aim was
>Patch me directly to the fort. I want to tell them how on target their aim was.

I'm half tempted to tell them to aim straight up and stand perfectly still.

“Patch me directly to the fort.” You said firmly, containing your boiling anger at having been potentially destroyed by your own artillery support; though the lid was certainly rattling in the attempt. “I want to tell them precisely how on target their aim was.”

“Aye aye.” Hans replied, sounding almost as mad. The whole of the tank was silent as they listened to the exchange you were about to have. “You’re live, Boss.”

“Fortress?” you asked levelly.

“Von Tracht.” Came the response of the operative you knew as Fritz, “Your prompt report must mean the gunners were not on target.”

“They were perfectly on target,” you snapped bitterly, “if the goal was to slaughter our offensive before it even began.” This wasn’t really Fritz’s fault, but you didn’t care. The weaselly little man had never rubbed you the right way, and you needed to blow off steam. “Utter incompetence. Off by a hundred meters or more, at this close distance, and in the worst direction to be off by. Is the aiming of the artillery being overseen by a crustacean?”

You expected a fight, you wanted a fight, but Fritz didn’t give you one. “I apologize on their behalf,” he instead said after he waited a moment to make sure you were finished. He held no remorse in his voice, which put a teaspoon of cold spite into the cauldron of frustration within you. “The needed corrections will be relayed. Thoroughly. Is that acceptable?”

“…Yes.”

“Then, Von Tracht.” Fritz said with finality.

Nothing else to complain about, you ceased transmission. “Talk with Battalion,” you said hollowly. “Say their guns don’t need much correction from our end, and have them confirm any adjustments with 3rd Company. Another round of spotting rounds, then fire for effect. I want that market turned to dust.”

The boiling pot had cooled down to a simmer, left to set outside on a frozen mountaintop, as cold tactical logic soothed the heat of emotion. No matter what that familiar feeling tried, though, the annoyance remained, that feeling of an itch that couldn’t be scratched, of not feeling you’d not given proper retribution for the offense laid upon you.

Anya would surely be tickled by the sight of you being irritated, and you glanced at her. Her focus wasn’t on you at all, though, and you had to turn a little to make sure. She was stretching slightly, craning her neck to look out the cupola ports. Well, I’ll be damned, you thought. She did have veterancy as a tank crewman, after all, but her appearance and attitude had led to more than a few presumptions.

The sole receptacle of your spite would have to be the enemy, you finally relented.

The next shells screamed down, well away from you this time, but the ground still shook with their impact, and pieces of market fare and stalls blew outward and upwards like a volcano erupting. Good enough, you thought. The all clear to begin firing for effect was given; after five minutes of shelling, you with 2nd company, and 3rd company, would move in from two sides and sweep away any remnants, if they didn’t flee, though 3rd company’s 3rd Armor Platoon had evidently moved to cover the road that went behind the marketplace, so they certainly wouldn’t retreat unscathed. If 1st Company managed to move through their current predicament…then everything would be dandy.

The first shells of all sorts drizzled, then hailed, as explosions blended into one another. Six guns and three mortars on one position produced a most unique sounding tone, as the sound of one second was never like its predecessors.

It went on like that for the arranged five minutes, and there was a sudden silence. A gambit, of course. A final barrage of three more shots from each supporting indirect weapon came in, and you saw the morbidly satisfying sight of bodies flying into the air, fooled by the false ending of the artillery.

A warcry rippled around the square, and White Eyes picked themselves out of their cover to charge for the market square. More than a few slingbombs were swung out into the mess, and their detonations were similar to that of the shelling that had just ended; that behavior ended, thankfully, as quickly as it was tried. Apparently the shrapnel from such large explosions was an unexpected product of the charges’ destructive power, given the fighter’s propensity to fight in much less urban environs.
“Forward,” you ordered simply. You wouldn’t be left out of this offensive, even though Anya was the one hanging out of the top and not you. She’d appropriated the tank’s submachinegun at some point; you couldn’t think of a justification for her not to have it, if she was going to do lookout duty, but it still felt odd even now for her to be armed when at the start of the day her people had been shooting at you. War made strange bedfellows.

…No, wait, that wasn’t a good metaphor, you thought uncomfortably as Any’a bare flank pressed against your cheek. Her cuirass left the sides open, and as she stood up with the weapon at the ready, the movement of the tank often pushed you both together.

Where did your earlier frustration go?

“Gunner,” you heard your voice say on its own; how talented you were, to still be able to fight while completely distracted by a woman’s stomach. “Suppress the area in front of us until the White Eyes make the first breach. We’ve plenty of ammunition. Same with you, Bow Gunner.”

“Aye.” Came the simple affirmative of both crew members, and the m/32’s impressive forward armament got to work chewing up everything in front of it.

Rolled 18 (1d100)

You moved perilously close to the heavy cover, as would be necessary to let the rest of the platoon out…and Anya gave a yelp of alarm, turning her gaze and weapon downwards, the submachinegun spitting even as it was turned towards an unseen enemy...

>Roll 1d100, DC roll under whatever this roll is, -10 bonus.

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>2420027
Derp

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>2420027
Christ we're just getting plowed in the ass today.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>2420029
>>2420030
Now the question is
Is Anya number 1 or number 2?

Two sounds of ripping fire overlapped one another, but Anya was the one who fell back into the turret afterwards, grunting and groaning.

“F-fuck!” she spat, “Little…fucker!” She groped around for something to hold on to, growling through tightly gritted teeth, “I’ll kill ‘im! Where’s a grenade!? I’ll blow him to bits! I’ll….urgh…”

Anya touched around herself, as though looking for something unseen, but when you looked her over, you saw where the elusive wounds were. Her opponent must have been waiting with a submachinegun, from the amount of dents in her armor, but the armor hadn’t covered everything, and had its weak points. One hole was just below her neck, in the lining that the plates were attached to, and the other was a small penetration made in the joint between the upper and lower plates; blood streamed from her belly and stained the armor, and her belt. A final shot had punctured her upper left arm; that one was noticed when it squirted blood onto your face as you were looking over Anya.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Anya cursed, “Second goddamn fight of this shitty day…don’t you die, you bitch, you're an Iron Hog, you don't get killed by some shitty little slug...” she gritted her teeth and gripped tightly around her arm, but she was obviously seriously wounded.

>Pull back; you have to get your wounded treated, and there’s too many hidden enemies to safely advance yet.
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.
>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.
>Other?

>>2420050
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.
RIP Anya, you were the best. If we can pull back as a single tank after this initial charge, maybe pass leadership to someone else in the unit, that'd be ideal. I can't imagine Anya would be pleased if we didn't capitalize on the opening we have now and/or go full Austin Powers on her shooter before retreating, though.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdctnPIR5kA

>>2420050
>>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.

>>2420050
>>Pull back; you have to get your wounded treated, and there’s too many hidden enemies to safely advance yet.

Is there some sort of company medic or someone we can call for? If not she's probably fucked. Even more fucked that is. Try to shove bandages or cloth into the wounds and apply pressure for now while we pull back.

>>2420065
Bat Company has medics they brought along; rather good ones, possibly more field surgeons than bog standard first aid practitioners.

Although even they have their limits, such as when they had to put wounded in a proper hospital back in East Valsten.

>>2420069

Well we should at least call for them to meet us somewhere safe and leave Anya to them.

>>2420027
>>2420030
I don’t understand, we passed the DC check right? Or was that to see whether Anya was wounded or killed outright?
Either way- insanely stupid of her to poke her ass out in the middle of a firefight!

>>2420050
>>2420056
Supporting, charging then breaking off to seek medical assistance. Direct pressure on her wounds, elevate her arm above her heart, and pressure bandage. Remove her armor, it’ll get in the way, and temporarily tourniquet her arm while we try to control the bleeding from her other wounds.
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.
Lay it on, dose them with lead and crush those who don’t flee!

>>2420050
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.

>>2420027
>>2420030
>>2420032
What the fuck man? We beat your bullshit DC and it still doesn't count?
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.
just keep going. If you wanted to kill her off why even make us roll?

>>2420050
>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.

>>2420081
>>2420219
I see there is a misunderstanding about what's happened. Maybe I shouldn't have been so coy about what the rolloff was for, but I'll explain.

This wasn't best of three, this was one dice. I understand that I usually allow for average of three, and as far as I know, I only rarely use best of three, usually for something a character is very good at and is unlikely to fail.

I thought about retroactively changing it to average of three, but the higher roll made beating 18 on an average of 3 roll to be nearly impossible, even with something as good as a 6 on a d100, even with a modifier of -10 to rolls instead of the total average. So, not wanting to just dump the roll on that alone, I made a coin flip (d2) to see which d100 would be the requested for in post singular d100. The coin picked the first one.

I understand that it feels like bullshit but I've had rolls that were uncontested and had worse potential consequence for little actively voted for incorrectly done before, albeit with a safety net. I see this as something bad and unlucky happening.

However, she is wearing armor. I would advise waiting to judge the wounds more directly before making conclusions.

If there's still objection to this decision, then I'll allow another d100 to be rolled for average, otherwise, I hope you understand why I did things like I did.

>>2420287
Ah, now I see.
Don't you die on me Anya!

>Advance, and crush the shooter under your treads. The artillery strike must have scattered them; a charge will convince them to flee instead of hide.

Then drop off Anya to medic as soon as we can after.

>>2420050
>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.

Charging forward seems like a needlessly dangerous thing to do when we already have infantry attacking the square. We should let them go first at least so we can use our firepower before committing to a charge.

Also I don't see what you guys are so cut up about, if we stay here and fight then we get glory, and Anya may or may not bleed out on the floor. It's a win-win situation!

>>2420287
Ah thanks for clarifying, I thought the d2 was to determine whether Anya or her assailant bit the bullet.

>>2420219
Hey hey bad shit happens in quests too, they would get rather boring if everything went swimmingly. Bitching at the QM solves nothing, he explained the rolls.

>>2420050
>Fire everything! (Except the submachine gun)

>>2420050
>>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.

Dont rush ahead, they've had time to possibly set up tank traps since we did delay the assault.

>>2420081
Anya's character probably had the same players deciding for us to stick our head out of the tank during a fight.

>>2420050
>>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.

If we are going to change the plan because of one wounded, we should have done so when we had a whole tank blow up from friendly fire

>>2420050
>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.

I dont particularly feel like rushing up and getting isolated, getting our tracks blown out and moltovs thrown on us.

>>2420050
>Continue the plan
Try to stabilize Anya while the tanks rain hell on the enemy. We can always pull back individually while the company lays down fire.

>>2420050
>>Continue the plan as thought out; Anya won’t die immediately.

Woah I'm not a corpse.

Charging-7 and Plan-6, I think, with other votes for two others, I think.

Writing now.

I hope thinking with your dicks isn't going to destroy our tank

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>2421870
Who cares?
I care, I'm just incredibly bitter about this utter bullshit right now, and the tank fucking up would make me happier.

>>2421879
>>2421870
Is this the guy who was waifuing Anya hard last thread?

“Forward!” You ordered your driver, “Flatten that scum beneath our tank.”

“Kommandant, Eh thenk,” Jorgen said hesitantly, but Malachi followed your orders, not Jorgen’s doubts.

“Stein, keep looking forward. I’m not expecting to use the gun, so-“ The tank jerked suddenly to the right, and there was a muffled scream, and the feeling of the tank running over something softer than the usual wood and stone debris. Was it too macabre to appreciate? “So help me get this woman’s armor off.”

“Damn,” Anya felt the need to comment, “I bet that felt good.” Maybe she wasn’t as dead as she thought if she had the energy to be sarcastic.

You and Jorgen undid the belts keeping the Ellowian plate tight against Anya’s body, and hefted it over her head, eliciting some pained groans as you did so. Anya’s arm wound spurted again and ruined your clothing further- you’d look at her more closely later, as somebody needed to be watching out the top, though not sticking out as far as Anya had been. You’d have to ask if she put that much faith in her armor or if she put little enough faith in the tank’s armor as to feel the need to personally engage any foe that was out of its sight.

Wherever you looked, it was a route. What hadn’t been swept aside by the artillery barrage was now being plowed into the dust by tank treads, the amount of fleeing enemy, if they were what was left, made it obvious why they weren’t holding; there was far too few of them to hold against two companies attacking from either side. Some rose to be shot to pieces, while others managed to flee some distance before being shot in the back; it was a slaughter, and the toll could still only be counted reliably, if the number of still bodies that had lingered since before you arrived, and the other soft things your tank crushed were any indication. Running over the first man had been exhilarating, but crushing the bodies seemed somehow…ugly.

A sudden clanging on the side of the tank. A boarder, you thought with a start! Hidden somewhere in a pile of rubble before, and now surely intending to drop an explosive down the top hatch, if he got to it...

Some scrambling afterwards confirmed that it indeed was somebody trying to get upon you. You could get another member of the platoon to scratch this guest off, but did you have time to wait for an ally to react?

>He’d have to open the top to toss or shoot anything down. Wait for him, with a gun pointed up, and request help from the rest of your platoon in shooting away the boarder.
>Maybe you could catch them while their grip was still unsure; open the side hatch to make a preemptive attack.
>Advise the driver to try and scrape this unwelcome guest off in some debris
>Other?

>>2421915
>>Advise the driver to try and scrape this unwelcome guest off in some debris

>>2421915
>>Advise the driver to try and scrape this unwelcome guest off in some debris

But keep our gun ready and hand holding down the hatch.

>>2421911
Your smartassery is misplaced. I'm more pissed about rolling against a randomly generated DC that is practically impossible to beat by averaging after a certain threshold. Yeah, it's unlucky. Yeah, shit happens. I'll get over it, but I'm goddamn mad that "It's just bad luck anon, lol" might result in any of our crew outright dying because the QM rolled a single dice that fucked us sideways due to how the system works.

>>2421915
>Advise the driver to try and scrape this unwelcome guest off in some debris
>He’d have to open the top to toss or shoot anything down. Wait for him, with a gun pointed up, and request help from the rest of your platoon in shooting away the boarder.

>>2421915
Can't we lock the hatch from the inside? If we hold it down long enough someone's gotta shoot him

>>2421950
You can, sure. Probably should have remembered you can do that.

>>2421950
>Advise the driver to try and scrape this unwelcome guest off in some debris


>Can't we lock the hatch from the inside? If we hold it down long enough someone's gotta shoot him

But also this, just don't stick our head out for God's sake.

“Lock the hatches,” you advised quickly. Your crew moved to such, and you wrenched the top hatch locked shut. If the boarder had a powerful explosive…then you were screwed anyways, so that eventuality was set aside. “Driver! We’ve got a bug on our right flank. I need it scraped off. Hans, tell the platoon we need some help shooting this buggerer off, too.”

As your crew got to work, you listened for any sound of the boarder’s progress, keeping the submachinegun at the ready in case he managed to pry anything open.

>Roll up to 3 sets of 1d100, best of 3 because…well, the person doing it. DC roll under 40.

>>2421937
Noted. I'll try to have riskier situations more concretely set up in the future, I can understand the frustration from that.

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>2421987

>>2421937
If you're pissed about the dice, then sure. just don't want people to be sperging over their best girl getting a bad roll.

Good roll BTW.

>>2422002
If I wanted to sperg out over best girls, I'd go back a few threads and REEE at the people who needed to be told three times they were going to kill Hilda.

>>2422007
To many girls as it is, we could do without Hilda and Signy

>>2422012
I agree with losing Signy. Hilda's still a useful soldier.

>>2422013
All we really need is Emma anyways, turn her into a shapeshifting demiphantom/golem and we're set

>>2422024
...I had not considered this, but your suggestion marks you as both a gentleman and a scholar of exquisite taste.

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>2421987

File: 1520142620523.jpg (69 KB, 960x624)

69 KB JPG

>>2422032
>>2421991
W E W

>>2422007
Yeah that thread was particularly cancerous.

>>2422042
I really like Hilda, but personally speaking, I think she should have died that thread. That three-chance back pedal was disgusting.

>>2422032
...Yeah, okay. Trying to beat a 6 on a d100 and doing it. Fucking mad cunt.

-----

Your driver may have spoken in a near jibberish accent, never shown his face, and was suspicious as all get out if you thought about it, but you’d never seen a finer driver. Malachi seemed to hardly move the tank at all, only lurching forward in sudden acceleration but one of few intact market stalls suddenly exploded into a pile of timber to your right, and the boarder was roughly thrown off. You watched through the viewports as the man unfortunate enough to earn your ire tumbled ass over teakettle into a clear behind you, before flopping down unconscious onto their back. White Eyes were following you; he’d be captured or finished off.

“Nadeuffdacleff,” Malachi muttered over the intercom, which Hans promptly translated to;

“Not out of the woods yet, boss!”

A line of three attackers sprang into action from multiple directions, one from the left, two from the right. The turret began to slew and you heard the bow gun clank in adjustment, but whether a counterattack could be launched in time was dubious; everything was simply happening too fast. If they were close and you were moving, though, you had doubts as to how accurate your own guns were.

One thing you did notice, though; none seemed to have their arms raised or bearing a firearm. No time to ask what your other crew saw, though. Malachi’s maneuver earlier had actually started the tank going forward much faster than it was going earlier; would these assailants even gauge your speed right?

Hell's bells, you barely had time to think, was your driver starting to turn the tank sideways?

>They aren’t ready for you to pop out and shoot; if you’re quick, you can take them all down.
>Button up and hope for the best
>Throw a grenade out the top
>Allow the driver free reign for creative maneuvering
>Other?

>>2422012
Don't bully Signy, she gave up way back in Strossvald.

>>2422052
>Allow the driver free reign for creative maneuvering
Is... Is Malachi about to street drift with a tank? Let the man drive. Let the mad man drive!

>>2422052
>Allow the driver free reign for creative maneuvering

>>2422052
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0dbimn-x64

>>2422052
>Allow the driver free reign for creative maneuvering
I believe in Malachi.

You said nothing, thought nothing; only hoped that whatever your crazy driver was thinking would be enough. A tank was moved by trust, after all…though you hoped you weren’t misplacing faith in a madman.

The slight turn ripped into a sideways slide, as the transmission grinded, gears shifting and brakes straining against moving tread. You hardly noticed the thudding of bodies being knocked aside by more than twenty tons of steel over everything else being smashed in the path of the slipping tank.

What the hell is happening? You thought as you were rocked to the side, almost tumbling over from inertia as the tank pivoted, and where you were going forward you were suddenly going backwards. The tank was filled with surprised swearing, though the at least one masked individual that would go unnamed was bellowing merrily.

“Hahs!” Malachi shouted over the intercom at your radioman after the maneuver was completed, and Hans was as in shock as you were over the events, but he understood what needed to be done when he saw your former attackers stumbling back up from the dust. The 13mm bow gun hammered, and annihilated them in a blink.

“Golline,” Malachi muttered, as if that was supposed to be an explanation, before another swift movement turned you back about, while killing all of your attained speed.

“Boss,” Hans alerted you to a radio message.

It was Von Metzeler. “Lieutenant,” he said levelly, “Are you alright? Are there mines?”

“No,” you said quickly, “Only madness. Carry on.”

No more ambushes came after that, as the momentum of the charge broke the will of any remaining fighters. Whenever you spied any more enemy fighters, they were fleeing or throwing down their weapons and cowering on the ground, as they found themselves overrun not only by tank but by man alike.

Soon you found yourself at a small road intersecting your path, that ran through the otherwise tangled stalls. The artillery had done less work as you moved along, and you stopped your advance here, where it seemed that, along with less enemies untouched by the bombardment, there was many more places for them to hide better. That, and the few that made it out of the crossfire in the first leg had managed to filter back here. Were you them, you’d not stay. You’d expect another artillery bombardment, and flee. You stalled your decision, though, until the rest of the assault had reported getting on line.

Soon you found yourself at a small road intersecting your path, that ran through the otherwise tangled stalls. The artillery had done less work as you moved along, and you stopped your advance here, where it seemed that, along with less enemies untouched by the bombardment, there was many more places for them to hide better. That, and the few that made it out of the crossfire in the first leg had managed to filter back here. Were you them, you’d not stay. You’d expect another artillery bombardment, and flee. You stalled your decision, though, until the rest of the assault had reported getting on line.

The time was taken to inspect Anya again. Jorgen had gotten to work binding her wounds. Oddly, you noticed the wound on her stomach was still untreated, more attention being given to her arm and neck. It certainly appeared to be bleeding less…

“Where does it hurt?” you asked.

“Where doesn’t it?” Anya groaned back. “Stupid.”

“You’re the one who was making yourself a target,” you muttered as you ran a hand over Anya’s abdomen, looking closer at the belly wound. A shot to the gut was dangerous, and could turn septic if not treated well, but this seemed oddly shallow for a bullet wound. A raised trail, you ran your finger down, since it was barely visible, then…an exit, just below her ribs? What a bizarre path for a bullet to take. Perhaps it was deflected that way by the armor, but the, where was the bullet?
The path of the bullet was replayed in your head, and you dug your hand into Anya’s waistline.

“Hey, wait, assclown,” Anya said harshly, “Only one of you who gets to even think about that is whoever was driving.”

“Shut up,” you chastised her as you pulled out a dented, copper jacketed bullet. “…Here,” you thrust it to Anya awkwardly, “This might’ve killed you, had the Judge not deemed you favored somehow.”

“Well,” Anya stared at the little thing. Funny, really, how something only nine millimeters wide was so effective at taking a life. It seemed so harmless as it was now. “I‘d say I’m pretty deserving of some divine favors, myself. Practically burning in holy hell right now.”

Favor was a matter of perspective, you supposed. Anya had a tourniquet binding her upper arm and slowing the arterial bleeding of her arm, while the hole in her collar had been stuffed with gauze and bound; it couldn’t be tied off like her arm, so you could only hope that that would be enough. At least the abdominal wound had been a lucky, if surely painful, glance.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked.

“At this rate I’ll probably die in a few days,” Anya grunted back. Good enough, then. Most likely a beaming example of health.

File: tcq_townbattle3.png (461 KB, 1300x1114)

461 KB PNG

It didn’t take long to figure out where everybody was now, as rumors and celebratory shouts spread news further than courier and radio reports. You had taken about half of this market, and had the enemy on the run.

Though, now, will they have reformed in the other half, that was untouched by artillery bombardment, reinforced, and now waiting to put up stiffer resistance? Or were they running at full pelt now, the proper course of action being to chase them as fast as you were able?

The artillery would surely be the safer option. Theoretically. If they didn’t shell you again. Alternatively, maybe you could slip around the enemy entirely; the right flank had nearly been overrun, after all. You could go around that way and potentially avoid an enemy concentration, getting to your allies lickety split.

>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room.
>Surge forward, the enemy surely has no more will to resist! This will be a rout!
>All the fighting needed to be done here has been accomplished. Slip around to the east.
>Other?

>>2422147
>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room.
Tanks following is one thing, but a 1-2-1-2 approach would probably do more for morale. Just the sound of further bombardments accompanying the tank route is likely to break morale.

I don't really know what we're doing here besides routing a town, though.

>>2422147
>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room.

Whether they get killed by artillery or by our charge almost doesn't matter, at least this way we're more likely to cause them to flee again as opposed to exposing ourselves to more Tank Two Wheel Treading.

>>2422147
>>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room

Tank Drifting was fun, but let's do it the proper way.

>>2422147
>>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room

>>2422147
>>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room.

Except maybe only use the mortars, we have friendlies infront and behind them, the big guns havnt exactly been the most accurate, especially now that we've moved into the square, we lack the heavy cover the building provided earlier.

If our heavier towed guns can be used in direct fire mode, have them zero in on that building in the middle, as well as our spg, its likely housing the heaviest concentration of enemies and most fortified to.

Im worried about civilian noncombatants or people who just didnt want to get caught up in this mixed in with the crowd. If the Fort has a broadcasting system, PA system, open radio channel, have them announce that people should be remaining in their basements, if they arnt already.

We might also want to think up of a plan on dealing with surrendering Death's heads, locally we have them pretty much surrounded here, they might even just surrender outright after we shell them again or demolish that central structure. How will we be processing them or are we just letting them go? Is Illger with us? Ask him if the Iron Hogs would be willing to accept mass surrenders and baby sit them, if so have the fort broadcast for anybody wishing to surrender to make their way out of the city and head towards the Iron Hogs positions to surrender, or to just leave the city. Hopefully giving the Death Heads a an opportunity of getting out of here alive would have us fighting less of them

>>2422042
>>2422045
I knew what I was voting for, not sure why it needed to be beat into peoples head that it woulda been a one way trip for Hilda and then suddenly people getting cold feet.Now she's acting weirder and I wouldnt be surprised if she were to go and shoot us

>>2422581
We don't want the Death Heads to go over to the Hogs en masse though. Loch's men have already raised the issue about strengthening them too much at the expense of the Republic. Just let our men detain them.

>>2422581
>Im worried about civilian noncombatants or people who just didnt want to get caught up in this mixed in with the crowd. If the Fort has a broadcasting system, PA system, open radio channel, have them announce that people should be remaining in their basements, if they aren't already.

The infighting's been going on long enough that everybody not interested in fighting has holed up.

>Is Illger with us?

Not directly beside you, no, but it's not hard to get into contact with him since you have each other's radio codes. He's with 3rd company currently, with the flanking force at the northeast road bordering the market.

>>2422147
>>Call in another bombardment on the other side of the square; making sure to give it plenty of room.

File: tcq_townbattle4.png (512 KB, 1300x1114)

512 KB PNG

Best to keep things safe, if slow and steady, you thought. The artillery was called up for another barrage, with the notable exception of the heavy fort guns; instead, for heavy artillery, the 15cm gun carriage was summoned for a particular target that looked like it would normally be nasty. It was a squat, but broad open stone building, from the look of things, the original limits of the now sprawling market. It was the sort of building that you felt a compulsive need to inject with a very large shell instead of fastidiously clearing each section of it of heavily entrenched enemy.

Despite the lesser amount of munitions that would fall upon this section of the enemy, the target was undoubtedly more concentrated now, whether they were choosing to retreat, or if they had elected instead to try and throw your assault back. How they would do that, you were still puzzling out as the rough distance of the new artillery coordinates were transmitted. They were put purposely further forward; a repeat of the last barrage should not happen.

>Roll 2 sets of 2d2 and 2 sets of 2d100 to determine where spotting rounds fall; once the spotting is confirmed on target, the shelling will proceed over held enemy territory.

Orange is 6cm mountain guns, red is mortars. Troops have been warned of possible scatter and are in heavy cover, so anything but a direct hit is unlikely to harm your forces.

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d2)

>>2424224

File: Shit.gif (209 KB, 500x498)

209 KB GIF

Rolled 84, 57 = 141 (2d100)

>>2424224
I hope that was for the left grid...

...should probably note which will be which. First set will be mountain guns, second mortars.

Also the scatter is much less this time because of prior bombardment giving a better idea of where the shots are landing.

>>2424250

Rolled 15, 22 = 37 (2d100)

>>2424224

Rolled 2, 2 = 4 (2d2)

>>2424224

Ok so double 22 is bad right

Rolled 2, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 2, 2 = 18 (12d2)

>>2424280
It's not a nice direction but the deviation degree you rolled was basically nothing.

Anyways time for individual shell scatter.

Rolled 8, 14, 6, 4, 10, 13, 14, 14, 20, 17, 6, 3 = 129 (12d20)

Also there was a -10 modifier to the last artillery roll so this one got that too. A minor thing, really. This is a formality.

The spotting shells splashed down far in front; roughly in the middle of the crowded markets. Warning shouts accompanied the sound of falling munitions; from what you’d seen of the last bombardment, the largest shells had actually done the most damage, but whether that was worth the friendly fire was yet to be seen.

The adjustments that had to be made were minute, and you gave the all clear for another fire for effect. As eruptions of rubble and dust sprouted in a slow line down the enemy’s territory, the 15cm gun carriage was called up. The target was close, and the Guillotine crew had gotten a good amount of time to familiarize themselves with the gun. The T-8, which had only sagged more and more over time from the weight of the gun on its undersized chassis, rolled up without challenge, and planted a stubby, thick shell straight through the entrance of the walled bazaar. Debris billowed out of every aperture with a satisfying, earth shaking KRR-BOHHMM!!

This time, there was no brief lull before a final bombardment. That trick wouldn’t work twice. Instead, as soon as the shrapnel from the final shells ceased their bouncing about, the troops all surged forward.

It was much shorter, much quicker, and less violent than the first push, which was saying quite something. The reason behind such was quickly discovered. Hardly any of the enemy was left, and who was there immediately surrendered. 3rd Company had intercepted some retreating troops on the road, but it appeared most vanished along the sole route open to them, to the northwest. When the old walled market that had been blown up from the inside was investigated, it was discovered that it had been a headquarters. No longer, of course. That would be too fortunate for you. Anything helpful had been evacuated, presumably just before your initial push, and the scraps that remained were of the sort that required more time to properly parse than you cared to devote. Stray notes were simply collected and sent back to the HQ company for somebody to find something to do with.

Rolled 2, 1, 4, 5 - 2 = 10 (4d6 - 2)

Casualty reports came in as the battalion consolidated itself at the far edge of the market. They were light, as could be expected, due to the thorough artillery bombardments, and most casualties occurred during the initial contact and skirmishing.

>2d6 for wounded, and 2d6 for KIA. KIA is the lesser, subtracted by two.

During the attack, only one man had been killed; two had perished in the white phosphorous friendly fire incident, but besides them, only nine out of the whole of the two companies had been wounded; a new appreciation for artillery support was being widely discussed among the quickly learning troops.

The fresh lull in battle had also allowed Bat Company’s field medics to come forward, at you request, and collect Anya.

“Has she been given morphine?” one of them asked, only to be sharply reprimanded by the wounded tomboy.

“Don’t gimme anything! I’ve got to keep my head together.” She said sorely. “No, I’ve got none, and I don’t want none. I’ve still got things to do. Stitch me up and put me back out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the other, younger medic scolded as he poked about Anya’s wounds with a metal probe, “These wounds are hardly the sort tolerable on the front lines. Even if they were closed, they’re too serious to risk having open again without medical attention. Your brachial artery has been severed, we have to repair it right away as is.”

“What on earth do you have to be back out again for, anyways?” the senior medic said harshly, “We’re almost dry on blood plasma, if you lose too much blood, nobody can help you this far from resupply. Unless you know of any vast stocks of modern medical surplus about heres, which I sincerely doubt.”

Anya saw she wasn’t making any progress with trained medical personnel, and looked at you fiercely. "Hey, dorkface, come on. I can’t be conked out in a cot, not if I’m gonna dig the Coppers out of Hagan’s group, not if you want the miners to have their guns again. Stitch me and wrap me, as long as I can survive another few hours without the works, I’ll be fine. Hell, I’ll be more convincing, since I’ve been hurt.”

>Unacceptable. You’re wounded. Somebody else can try it if it’s so important, but sending somebody as hurt as you are would be a liability.
>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.
>I’m not fond of seeing cute girls bleed out, so no, you’re going back and getting treated.
>Other?

>>2424437
>>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.

>>2424437
>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.

>>2424437
>Unacceptable. You’re wounded. Somebody else can try it if it’s so important, but sending somebody as hurt as you are would be a liability.
She won't do much good when she passes out from internal blood loss while holding the detonator to Hagan and his goons. Unless she literally ties on a tourniquet that will probably cost her the arm, she won't be able to survive a high stress situation (elevated heart rate=bleeding out).
Does the fort have medical facilities, can Anya get treated there? I doubt she'll be able to re-join after surgery, but at least she won't need to drive out of the city to get back to Republic lines.

Have her hand over the dud bomb, we might just have to flush Hagan out to negotiate or force his surrender. Perhaps we can stroke his ego, lie- offer favorable terms of surrender or even flat out bribery and spring the trap when he presents himself? He seems like a greedy man with limited military experience, he might not smell an ambush if we cater to his big boss dreams. He wants to be the rising star, his ambition could blind him if we offer to meet face-to-face.

If there's no sign of the Noreasters and East Downers, I suggest we push on towards the fort to link up with friendlies and get reinforcements. We can get a bigger picture of the city and figure out our next move to find Hagan and Copper Group.

>I’m not fond of seeing cute girls bleed out, so no, you’re going back and getting treated.
Why must you maim all our waifus, tanq? ;_;

>>2424437
>I’m not fond of seeing cute girls bleed out, so no, you’re going back and getting treated.

Partly to surprise her enough for the medics to cart her away, partly because.

If we let her stay she WILL die, gentle tank ride or not, she will pass out in the negotiation or she will drop the dudbor something.

Tell Anya that it wouldn't be very chivalrous to have her die for our gain and that we will see her soon enough, victorious.

>>2424437
>I’m not fond of seeing cute girls bleed out, so no, you’re going back and getting treated.
Plans change. We're not so desperate we need to gamble our crew's life to be victorious here.

>>2424437
>Unacceptable. You’re wounded. Somebody else can try it if it’s so important, but sending somebody as hurt as you are would be a liability.

>>2424437
>>Unacceptable. You’re wounded. Somebody else can try it if it’s so important, but sending somebody as hurt as you are would be a liability.

>>2424691
>Why must you maim all our waifus, tanq? ;_;
Good, good, we're well on our way to starting the Von Tracht home for disadvantaged girls

>When you started out playing Tonk quest
>Which was revealed to be spooky tonk quest
>Which became spooky waifu collection quest
>Which is now understood to be Katawa Shojou Tonk Quest

>>2424877
This

>>2424437
>>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.

If she really wants to bleed out that badly, sure thing. Who are we to deny her wishes, it's not like she would listen to our objections anyways.

>>2424877
If we can beat Selgess the Skull in a duel, we can beat Hagan Handhumper. No worries Anya

>>2425036

Life has many doors, Ed boy.

>>2424437
>>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.

>>2424437
>>If you think you can do it, what can I say to that? You will be severely reprimanded if you faint while on duty, however.

>But you're not going anywhere until the medics have done what they can to stop you from dying on your feet.

She can take a shot of morphine, or other pain killer, with her to self medicate.