Despite half the conversation taking place in his head, Von Blum heard the Hermit as he spoke- he had known him for decades, and simply knew what he would say. He moved forward, aggrieved as though he had actually been redressed, and reached to grasp the ancient man’s collar- only for the rags to shift on one side, and a spindly claw of bronze and petrified wood to snatch out and grasp Barnabas’s arm with a firm hold, arresting him utterly.

Not the Hermit’s hand. Nor his golem. Simply an artifact that had become one with his person. It spoke directly into Von Blum’s mind, up through where it touched him. ”LAY NOT THOU HANDS UPON THE MAS TER, PRE SUMP TU OUS MAN.”

“You are naught but a trinket I deigned to dig up,” Barnabas sniffed, unperturbed, “You speak so flippantly to a lord of the land, in days past, these lands would be a kingdom of their own. Surely the Noble Arms would know to respect their betters.”

”NO TRUE KING.” The claw pushed him back, keeping its grip. ”THOU PILL AGED THE TOMB OF ONE, OF MA NY. THOU ART BUT A GRAVE ROB BER, A PRE TEN DER U PON ONCE GREAT NESS.”

“History has forgotten your time,” Von Blum retorted sharply, “You are shackled to an elderly tramp. Whatever happened in the past no longer matters. Unhand me, now.”

”ARR O GANT MAN, WHO DOTH BE LIEVE THAT THE SCRIB BLINGS AND SCRAW LINGS OF PET TY MAN KIND MAT TERS AUGHT TO THOSE A BOVE THOU.” The arm pushed him further, but loosened its grip as Barnabas was made to stand further away. ”THOU WERE ONCE STRONG. YET NOW, YOUR STRENGTH HATH FLED WITH THE PAS SAGE OF YEARS. IT MAY BE TEN YEARS, IT MAY BE TWEN TY, BUT THOU SHALT BE LAIN THIS LOW BY TIME. THE EX IL E HATH EN FEE BLED ThOU. HER PRO GEN Y HATH MADE THOU WEAK. THOU ART NOT THE HERITOR OF THE MAS TER, WHOM HE HATH CHO SEN. MERE LY THE FALSE KING OF NO THING.”

Von Blum wrenched his arm out of what was left of the artifact’s grasp, and it vanished back under the blankets, settling, gripping onto one of the armchair’s arm rests beneath. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, before exhaling in a long sigh, turning on his heel and leaving.

He ought not, he thought, to have invited the past to speak with him once more.

-----

“Heads up, Four-Five,” Van Halm’s voice crackled in your ear, “Things have been moving fast without us, and something’s coming from the north, Four-One Actual says. Big enough to be reported. Don’t be surprised if it’s a bit before we get back to the platoon.”

You are Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht- the newest (probably) recruit to the prestigious Silver Lances- the name carried by the band your ancestor fought under the first Archduke Von Strossvald with, during Strossvald’s war with the Grossreich for its independence. It had been an ambition of yours to join their ranks, yet now that you were here…perhaps you’d appreciate it more if you survived your first campaign. The one that you were in the middle of, here- an effort to aid the Republic of Mittelsosalia and the army in exile of Ellowie in defeating the Netillians, including their Northern Lord thralls here in Sosaldt, your current foes. Though, up above, what was undoubtedly the Netillian Air Force was coming to blows with their Ellowian rivals, as well. Distracting them from you- the reputation of the Ellowians couldn’t keep you from craning your head up, dreading that one of those dancing figures high above might swoop down and bring its ire down upon you.

The Ellowians seemed to be occupying the Netillians well enough up there. Nobody was coming down to help or harm you, from the looks of it, but your imagination worked with your lack of knowledge, and the continuing lack of distraction, to create an unpleasant image in your mind of what lay in store for you as you tried not to stare at the remnants of former frontlines. Crimson clumps in the frosted dust. Pieces of people in places. One time, a pile. You’d seen the like before, but it felt like, now, you…hadn’t really seen them.

“Four Five, you there?” A pause. “Why are you staring at that?”

“I don’t know,” you said blankly as you forced yourself away. Back to the task. Slap yourself in the face if you need to, the enemy wouldn’t wait for you to be ready for the fight when it came.

Presently, you were going up a road that branched off a greater highway called the Northway Road- unremarkable in name, but in practice an artery that led all the way up to the heart of Netilland. Engineers had been busily clearing the way where there had been mines, though the roads themselves had apparently been lacking. The Sosaldtian Northern Lords had been prepared to fend off an attack from the untested Republic of Mittelsosalia, not the combined strength of that, the exiled Ellowian Army and Air Force, and the elite Silver Lances Armor Division. It did say something of this foe that they did not buckle and shatter the moment a breakthrough had been achieved.

Though from what little you knew of what was presently happening, for example, the plight of the Republic soldiers you’d left behind to rejoin your platoon, maybe you should have expected what was coming next.

“Hey, panzers! Hold up!” A panzergrenadier officer and his escorts stood in the road, shouting at Van Halm in front and to the right of you. As Van Halm stopped, so too did you order your driver, though it felt as though you had been preempted in that command.

“What the hell do you want?” Van Halm demanded of the officer who had stopped him, “We’re getting back to our platoon on the line. Blocking up the road like that, nobody would have batted an eye if I ran you over!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Panzergrenadier shouted back up over the engines’ growling, “There’s a situation south of the road, orders are to grab whoever I can and send them south south-east of here!”

“Under whose orders? Yours?” You couldn’t see the officer’s collar marks from where you were, but from Van Halm’s tone they couldn’t have been higher than a Captain.

“Oberst Weissestrasser,” the officer shot back indignantly, “If you want to send it up the chain only to be told to turn around and go back, be my guest, kliefnatz.”

“Ptch.” Van Halm spat, “Fine. What’s the situation?”

“Air recon said something about attacks massing up all over the line. They can see we’re trying to trap them, so they’re striking from the south with what they’ve got. Their artillery’s focused on keeping the forts, but we’re stretched thin waiting for the chocolate soldiers. There’s no tanks spotted, so if we get tanks, it’s a game of us having them and them not.”

“Easy, then,” Van Halm declared, before turning and gesturing for you to listen. “Von Tracht! I can deal with this myself. You want to keep going to the platoon?”

“Hey,” the infantry officer cut in, “No, both of you are-“

“Don’t be greedy,” Van Halm snapped back, “You ought to count yourself lucky as is. So, Von Tracht, what’ll it be? The sun’s setting- bet you anything that if we stay here we’re not catching up with the platoon until it’s dark.”

>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.
>If he’s so confident, he couldn’t run into problems. Accept the offer and keep going to your platoon.
>Make a counteroffer- Van Halm was probably more necessary than you to the platoon. You were the rookie- you’d stay behind and do this work demanded.
>Other?

Pastebin for past threads- https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
Twitter for announcements and shitposts is @scheissfunker

>>4610797
>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.

He stayed for us so returning the favour is only appropriate.

>>4610797
>If he’s so confident, he couldn’t run into problems. Accept the offer and keep going to your platoon.

>>4610797
>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.

>>4610797
>>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.
One more tank is double the efficiency down here and a marginal improvement with the rest of the platoon.

>>4610797
>>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.

>>4610797
>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.
I think I figured the game out. Richter's been hurt so much lately because he doesn't have enough women orbiting him to take the hits. We need to build up a new harem, and fast.

>>4610966
>build up a new harem
I imagine in another timeline a wounded maiden floated gently into Richter's lap after absconding from her skybound chariot, followed by the remains of the chariot and a few bombs soon after.

>>4610797
>You’d rather not leave Van Halm by himself. You were assigned as partners, weren’t you? You could at least keep it that way for a day before breaking off.
Also, a technical question about the m/32. Are the entire length of the fenders just smooth sheet metal or do they have any kind of chequer marking on them to prevent slipping? I haven't managed to find any coloured scenes where the tops are clearly visible.
>>4610966
H-hareming Van Halm is forbidden love, anon!

Dinner eaten.
>>4610808
>>4610845
>>4610925
>>4610952
>>4610966
>>4611008
Don't leave Van Halm by his lonesome with the grunts. You ought to return the favor. Two is twice as much as one, as well.

>>4610815
Later Kliefn-

Writing.

>>4610966
As it turned out the fate points were female points all along. Or perhaps it's because the bearer of the Harem Holder title changed.

>>4611006
>Wrath Leader
>a maiden

>>4611008
In some renderings of it I've had a pair of raised steel runners along the length of the upper hull until the bend at the end, theoretically for slotting crates into or for having a little bit more footing on a rainy or icy day. However, they do tend to be left out more often than not just because I am fickle when it comes to both remembering and bothering to actually draw them. Otherwise, they are smooth.

>>4611066
>cant refer to her as a Lady because she is not a noble
>too old to be a debutante
>unwise to call her a spinster or an old hag
I stand by my decision.

>>4611090
she'd be a lady, just not a Lady

>>4611066
By the way tanq
>You couldn’t see the officer’s collar marks from where you were, but from Van Halm’s tone they couldn’t have been higher than a Captain.
So how much can a noble get away with here? Can he outright tell the guy to pound sand superior rank or not?

Sorry for the massive delay, I went to sit down and think and I ended up nodding off.
>>4611357
>So how much can a noble get away with here? Can he outright tell the guy to pound sand superior rank or not?
You haven't been in long enough for a definite conclusion on that, but probably not. The Silver Lances, because of their nature of often operating outside of actual army structure, don't have the same inherent division of class. Nobility still has quite a presence because of having more opportunity to distinguish themselves in the army and thus gain the reputation and notice to be invited in the first place, but the unit is descended from a mercenary band. Symbolically, that the commander of the Silver Lances mercenaries was elevated to nobility and the band to a place of prestige, is meant to be a symbol of the joining in hands of the nobility and common folk, as was the common line when the man who would become the first Archduke was stirring up support for his rebellion.
Whether that's true of the nation or not, no, nobility has no specially granted rights or exceptions in the Silver Lances. One of their regulations even prohibits special favors based on blood and birth.

It felt a poor way to repay Van Halm sticking around for you and helping repair your tank, to leave him here, even if it was his idea. The very least you could do was stay by your assigned partner for but a day.

“I’ll stay around here with you,” you said, “Besides, if I go, the platoon will only go from three to four tanks, but if I stay here, it’ll be double the effective power..?”
“Why don’t you sound sure? That sounds right to me.” Van Halm seemed pleasantly surprised that you were staying.

“”I’ve not been sure about many things lately,” you muttered, “It doesn’t matter. I’m staying with your tank.”

“Good. Keep on my rear flank. Make sure to button up when we’re there, when all you’ve got is a rifle, the softer bits stick out more.” Van Halm said, “They might try and sneak up, but we have to trust the grenadiers to be our eyes. Speaking of. Hey, you,” he addressed the Panzergrenadier officer, “Take us over.”

-----

The line of defense was in the midst of a skirmish when you and Van Halm arrived, though it quieted down as soon as both of you rounded the hill which this infantry unit’s defense was arrayed around. Was it a platoon? Two platoons? They were spread out to the point where it was hard to tell among the hastily dug trenches and foxholes. In a defilade on the side of the hill you came from, by a mortar pit there was a truck of the sort the Panzergrenadier used for command and control purposes, the same as one of their transports and just as armored in its field-modified fashion, but with antennae indicating the presence of communications equipment, cables spreading out to field telephones further away. This particular hill was a good position, with difficult approaches to attack upon, besides a smaller hill directly in front that provided the only decent stepping stone towards this hill. Yet even a predictable attack made forcefully could potentially overwhelm it, hence your presence.

“Well, Four-Five, kick your feet up,” Van Halm said over the radio as soon as you both moved into place on either flank, “Not much else to do if you don’t want to be picked off by a sniper.” Despite the open approaches, that latter concern was plenty relevant. There were plenty of places for a single person to creep in unnoticed. “As long as we’re here, unless we’re sent somewhere else on this line, the best we’ll be doing is playing Aufspringen.”

“Huh?”

“Pop-Up. It’s…never mind, ask your crew about it. We’re not using the radio to have a conversation. Four-Four out.”

You frowned, then switched to the intercom. Would Jorgen or Malachi even have heard of it if you hadn’t? Was it slang? You’d already explained the current assignment to the crew, so they were already keeping watch. Surely this small distraction wouldn’t be a critical mistake with you just arriving.

“Have any of you heard of Pop-Up? A game you play?”

“This really the time to be talking about fairground crap?” your gunner, Schafer, muttered sorely as he peered through his periscope.

“It’s a game that uses a machine that props up targets at certain timing,” the radio operator and bow gunner Hausen said more helpfully, “you throw balls or use a slingshot or something to try and hit them all as they pop up. I saw a parlor once that had an automatic version, but it did the same pattern every time. The manual ones have variation.”

“Ehh, thraen baells,” Jorgen sighed, “Naefen weth plaen wohd. Maer fahn tetoss at baers.”

“It’s a game, not a suicide attempt, northman,” Hausen replied, “Nobody but Yaegirs throw rocks at bears for fun, I’m sure. Not even Kalleans.”

Compelled by curiosity, you asked, “…What do they do? Do they play Pop-Up?” There was much you’d forgotten about the world- and the Silver Lances had traveled far and wide across the continent.

“Weird mosshead shit, a lot of them,” Schafer said with a grunt, “Heard they like scalding themselves in springs in some sort of endurance contest. They do the same thing with winter chill. The most insane ones, the ones in the Iceforth Troop, I heard they stand out near the edge of the Maelstrom, and see how long they can stand it. No wonder they’re nuts. They’ll release a bird with a ribbon tied to it, too, and see who can get the ribbon back. Do that for goddamn weeks without giving up.”

“Baerd? Raebben?” Jorgen parroted, “Ey Mal, daedn’t you dothaet thaeng?”

An abrupt silence in the tank, the intercom. Malachi didn’t answer. Nobody said…anything.

>…Fine, it was a stupid conversation anyways. Back to watching the dust.
>Well. Did he? Could you help being interested?
>Try and divert focus away from that subject. (How?)
>Other?

>>4611475
>Well. Did he? Could you help being interested?
Curious to know, though honestly I don't expect an answer.

>>4611475
>>Well. Did he? Could you help being interested?
Speak, mountain munchkin

>>4611475
>…Fine, it was a stupid conversation anyways. Back to watching the dust.
Malachi clearly doesn't want to talk about it.

>>4611475
>>…Fine, it was a stupid conversation anyways. Back to watching the dust.

>>4611475
>…Fine, it was a stupid conversation anyways. Back to watching the dust.

>>4611475
>>…Fine, it was a stupid conversation anyways. Back to watching the dust.
Sometimes what happens between a man and a bird are best left unmentioned.

Once more I am around.
>>4611477
>>4611478
Tell me your secrets, green headed one.

>>4611482
>>4611483
>>4611484
>>4611866
This was about a fairgrounds game, wasn't it? That's a stupid subject. Let's not discuss it any further.

Writing.

Inside, you were interested, in a way you couldn’t help. Much about your driver was a mystery- was this an opportunity to learn something significant? No, though, it wasn’t. Malachi clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and even if you asked, you wouldn’t get an answer.

It was a stupid conversation anyways, you supposed as you let the silence become normalcy, you’d never been a fair or carnival person anyways. Back to staring at the dust, looking for shapes among the swirls made by wind, and listening to sounds near and far of conflict that were ferocious, but absent from this part of the front if only because of you and Van Halm’s presence.
Familiar tense boredom set in- it was like when you were stationed all night on the line whilst the ERA fought the Twaryians, back in Ellowie. Yet, you couldn’t possibly be forced alert while unoccupied for that long- the enemy would do something- they had to, if they knew that they were being enveloped. Sosaldtian bandits and gangsters were all sorts of things, but something they weren’t was complacent and stupid.

You began to actually consider kicking your feet up for how little you could properly see out the cupola lenses, instead of being out top with the binoculars. The Silver Lance panzergrenadiers were similarly keeping their heads down, though they probably hadn’t had direct experience with being the victim of Sosaldtian marksmanship like you had been. This time, you didn’t have Maddalyn to fix the consequences of a brief and potentially deadly mistake.

What could they be doing, you contemplated for lack of demands for your attention. What was the Northern Lords’ plan? The attack wouldn’t be canceled because of just a pair of tanks, but Sosaldtians weren’t the sort to make suicidal mass charges. They were crafty, and wouldn’t try and take you head on without some sort of equalizer- they’d settle for that, counting on ferocity and momentum to make up any further difference. They couldn’t expect ideal superiority of men or materiel. Hopefully you weren’t loitering atop a massive bomb. You did notice that the gas mask carriers on the Panzergrenadiers’ belts lay open- would these Northern Lords have access to that? It’d be a poor idea to use it if they didn’t have chemical protection themselves, something you noted as being quite rare last you were in this place.

Somewhere far off, there was a rumbling, then whistling which you initially dismissed- it seemed the same as any other, until…

“Four-Five!” Van Halm suddenly shouted, “Put the lid on, that’s incoming!”

The question of ”How the hell does he know that?” was overruled by the sudden panic, the impulse to do as told when instinct failed you. With a reach over and to the side, you grasped for the hatch impotently with half a hand, before switching belatedly to the hand with a full set of fingers to pull the cupola hatch closed just before the whistling sharply increased in volume.

KSHHBOOOOOOOM!!

Maybe twenty meters off to your flank, the loudest sound you’d heard in a long time resonated through the tank, and bits of debris clanged off the tank, each one a sharp, tiny sting to the ear.
“Aayyye, thaet’s maer lehket!” Jorgen shouted for some reason, but revelry was far from your mind as more shells came down, each just about as loud as the last- especially as the impacts began to overlap. A continuous earthquake, each shell causing every muscle in your body to spasm at once.

KSHHBOOOOOOOM!!
KSHHBOOOOOOOM!!
KSHHBOOOOOOOM!!

>Roll 3 sets of 1d100, DC roll under 80, to keep it together.

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4612102

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>4612102

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>4612102

>1 Failure- Mild Break

Were you dead?

Everything suddenly went black, and you didn’t know where you were, you didn’t feel anything, see anything…blurry shapes, muffled sounds, but the infernal pounding and shaking didn’t end…until it did, but you still remained as you were. It was finally…finally quiet. Finally peaceful, finally-

Whack!

There was a sharp blow on your cheek that you only felt the slightest sting of, and your vision began to clear of its blurriness, the sounds that seemed incoherent before began to coalesce into voices…that were mixing together and separating out again in a mess your ears couldn’t sort out.

“Four-Five, resp-“

“Wake up, you!”

“Bossman, what’s the-“

“-head, there’s-“

Whack!

“St-stop hitting me!” you stammered out as you shook your head and struggled up from the turret floor, “I…ugh…”

“There’s no time,” Schafer grunted as he hauled you back up with Jorgen, “That last barrage was smoke, all across the front, wind’s toward us. It’s not gas, but you can bet they’re coming now.”

“Ahhh…” your head still pounded, and your mouth was dry. It was too bright in here, it was too much feeling to even think. “I…”

“Four-five! Respond!”

Focus. Focus on something. Anything. The feeling of helplessness was too much to bear, and your crew wouldn’t let you curl up in a ball like you wanted to do more than anything else now, even though the booming of artillery had ended.

>Get your bearings. You needed to look around- to see what was around, you couldn’t tell anything from in here…
>Get your crew ready. Get the gun loaded, the tank moving to a better spot, if need be.
>Respond to Van Halm. Clear up the situation, reassure that you’re alright and confirm what needs to be done now.
>Other?

>>4612141
>Respond to Van Halm. Clear up the situation, reassure that you’re alright and confirm what needs to be done now.

>>4612141
>Respond to Van Halm. Clear up the situation, reassure that you’re alright and confirm what needs to be done now.

But, uh, everything's perfectly all right now. We're fine. We're all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?

>>4612141
>Respond to Van Halm. Clear up the situation, reassure that you’re alright and confirm what needs to be done now.
Its perfect, he tells us what we need to do, then we just tell the crew what he said. A perfect plan that will assuredly survive contact with the enemy.

>>4612141
>Respond to Van Halm. Clear up the situation, reassure that you’re alright and confirm what needs to be done now
I trust our crew to handle their jobs without us asking

>>4612142
>>4612158
>>4612190
>>4612213
Defer to superior. Trust the people who know what they're doing to pick up.
Writing.

Did your crew need your help? No. You needed their help, and you could trust them to do their jobs just by seeing where they were now. If only the same was true of yourself…no, you could do at least one thing right, even in this state, and that was to collect your focus and confirm to your platoon partner that you weren’t a pile of charcoal or ground meat.

“…F-four-Five,” you choked into the microphone, “Four-Five to Four-Four. I’m h-here. What’s going on..?”

“What’s going on with you? Are you wounded?”

“N-no, I’m fine,” All you had to do was talk. Listen and convey will. That was easy. “What do we do? What’s happening?”

A pause, as though Van Halm had to consider whether or not you were actually awake. “Remain in place and shoot whatever moves. If our people get forced back, there’ll be a call to retreat. We’ll stay back and cover them, then move out ourselves. The wind’s toward us, so we can’t use Bertholite shells like I’d like to without getting everybody masked up. Have canister on the ready rack. Watch out for any shapes like anti-tank guns, they’ll have had time to shove them up with this. Don’t try and conserve ammunition, and be prepared to counterattack. We’re tankers, not Grenzwacht in bunkers. Understood?”

Alright. That was easier to think about when said by somebody else.

“Understood, Four-Five?”

“Ah, understood.”

“Four-four out.”

Back to the intercom, then. “Sorry,” you apologized to your crew, then shook your head like you needed to rattle something back into place. “We’re staying in place. Shoot whatever moves up. If a retreat is called, we go out last. Don’t load Bertholite shells, have canister on the read rack. Gunner, priority target is anti-tank guns. Driver, keep the engine on in case we have to make a sudden counterattack. Do you have a clear field of fire, Hausen?”

“Clear enough,” Hausen said, “Anything on the hill’s going to be too high for me to elevate to, though.”

“Same story with the main gun,” Schafer said, “Anything but the hilltop ought’a be fine, but the gun’s big ‘nough in back that it don’t go as-“

Suddenly, a machine gun on the line started firing, catching you and the rest of the crew off guard. Precious moments passed as you regained your bearings…and there was a lot of enemy coming, now. They weren’t making themselves easy targets, either- their shapes flitted about as far across as you could see, in every direction to the front. You thought you saw some larger shapes moving about too- large and blocky, but faster than people on but their legs.

“Lieutenant,” Schafer prompted you, “Targets? Quickly.”

>Load the main gun- fire everything at this oncoming attack. (What sort of shell? Types are- AP, HE, Bertholite, Canister, Hellfire)
>Allow the hull gun and coaxial to fire at will- keep the main gun from firing until you spot a target that needs it right away. (What shell?)
>You can’t see shit from in here. Take the risk of popping out so you can properly identify targets. (Identifies threats right away- risks being shot)
>Other?

>>4612258
>Allow the hull gun and coaxial to fire at will- keep the main gun from firing until you spot a target that needs it right away. (What shell?)
HE

>>4612267
+1

>>4612258
>Load the main gun- fire everything at this oncoming attack
HE - save the canister for when they're really close.

>>4612267
Swapping to this

>>4612258
>Load the main gun- fire everything at this oncoming attack. (What sort of shell? Types are- AP, HE, Bertholite, Canister, Hellfire)
AP, if they got the artillery for this I am willing to bet they found some tanks too.

>>4612267
This works.
Clearly Richter needs to do a few more stupidly brave things to bolster his will.

>>4612267
>>4612269
>>4612272
>>4612277
>>4612324
High explosive, save the gun.

>>4612312
Suspect a tank- a tank that must be coming soon.

Writing.

>>4612272
Rather, this one is "shoot it away." Not the same as the others.

“L-load high explosive,” you said, “But don’t fire the main gun until I…have a target,” you cleared your throat, “Everything else, fire at will.”

“Say again, fire at will?” Hausen’s voice touched your ears.

“Fire at will!” you repeated. As the bow gun belched out its spite, you repeated again, “Do not fire the cannon until my say so!”

The turret moved without your influence, the machine guns spat lines of glowing tracer shot across the battlefield, and you could do little but try and bring yourself back into the present as you scanned for targets from inside your cramped cupola, with only small windows of vision into the world that sometimes shoot and made sickening cracking sounds as bullets splattered against the armor glass, sharpshooters doing their best to impede the tank. Better you than the grenadiers, you thought for only a moment before you thought the armor glass might split with a direct hit just to the side of your head that nearly made you jump through the locked hatch.

Nothing leaped out at you as a target in the smoke, even as it seemed to thin, only for the deployment of what must have been pots or candles obscuring everything again. The volume of enemy fire didn’t seem to decrease whatsoever, either. It only increased, the directions of engagement multiplying, stretching to the flanks- it felt impossible that there could be this many of them, but perhaps, there were in actuality just so few of you.

It felt and sounded as if you were in the eye of a storm at sea- the waves roiled about, and though the Sosaldtians were very oddly refusing to charge in and smite the lot of you, it certainly felt like they could. It must have been solely because of you and Van Halm’s presence in this place on the line.

It wasn’t enough, though. For each glowing spray you saw arc out and strike a shape to the ground, even the throaty blast of the bow 13mm felt impotent.
The platoon transmission light on your end of the radio set glowed sharply- you switched from the intercom. “Four-Five.” You answered quickly.

“Four-Four. Fuck this.” Van Halm said with an irritation you didn’t recognize, “They’re being cagey. Trying to set up for a perfect breakthrough. They don’t think we’ll come after them, because we haven’t moved. They’re only pinning us down harder and grinding down the panzergrenadier, the longer this goes on. I’m going to go to your side and reach out and touch them. Cover me, will you?”

>Disagree. The fight might be long and grinding, but all you had to do was delay. Surely command recognized this threat and would send help of some sort.
>Agree, so long as he doesn’t get overzealous. You can only safely support right from where you are.
>Volunteer to go up with him- surely if no anti-tank weapons have been used against you yet, they don’t have any prepared. Two of you could do double the damage.
>Other?

>>4612409
>>Agree, so long as he doesn’t get overzealous. You can only safely support right from where you are.

>>4612409
>Agree, so long as he doesn’t get overzealous. You can only safely support right from where you are.

>>4612409
>Other: All of this looks like a distraction. We should check the flanks instead.

>>4612409
This but mention
>Other: All of this looks like a distraction. We should check the flanks instead.

>>4612409
>Other: All of this looks like a distraction. We should check the flanks instead.

>>4612409
>Other: All of this looks like a distraction. We should check the flanks instead.
Might be trying to suppress us while they manoeuvre around our position

>>4612409
>Other: All of this looks like a distraction. We should check the flanks instead.

>>4612414
>>4612424
Alright, I'll be right here.

>>4612425
>>4612429
>>4612435
>>4612437
>>4612460
But isn't this rather suspicious?

I'll be writing after raids, I shouldn't be too tired after them.

>>4613275
inb4 another 25hr raid

“I will, Four-Four, but,” there was…something else. Something that made even this rising tide seem petty by the comparison. You couldn’t notice much where you were and with the position you were in, but you could reason what wasn’t there- because you kept looking for it, waiting for the big move, but this felt just like…stalling. “I think this is a distraction. We ought to look at our flanks, I’ve seen movement and it’s not been towards us.”

“Four-Five,” Van Halm said sternly, “That might be the case, but we can’t both go look at the flanks. If we both leave, I’m sure these guys’ll take the opportunity to run over the grenadiers here. As it stand they’re hanging on by a thread. We’d as well declare a retreat.“

“If they’re going up our flanks we won’t even be able to retreat.”

“…Yeah. Alright.” Van Halm was understandably pressured, “Fine, we’ll do both. Go west and see if something’s happening. I’ll punch into their lines myself.”

Westward was an understandable priority. That was where the lines of communication, the route of supply and reinforcement was. Yet Van Halm said he’d do what he had planned to do with your support, alone? “You’ll be able to do that?”

“I’ll be fine, Four-Five,” Van Halm said back, “If I don’t do something we’ll get shoved out anyways. You just make sure you measure yourself. You don’t have any panzergrenadiers with you. Now get moving.”

“Alright,” you said, “good luck.” To the intercom, then. “Cease fire. Driver, take us back to the road, we need to go back west down the road and check for people trying to flank around us.”

“Sounds like grenadier work,” Schafer said, “This’s a tank, not a pair ‘a eyes.”

“Maybe a tank’s what’s needed.” You said, “It was a command from Van Halm anyways. Let’s go.”

Rolled 1 (1d3)

Malachi had already gotten the tank moving- little harassment pursued you as you went back around the hill, though you stole a glance at Van Halm pressing forth, as you departed. He surely wasn’t overconfident of his ability, yet…Well, Van Halm had been to other places, surely; if he’d only been in as long as your crewmen, then he’d have matched himself against Vitelian Revolutionaries and the apparently fearsome Kalleans both. That such a figure would fail against your current enemy seemed doubtful.

The wall of wispy smoke had been fading when you left, and it didn’t take much traveling to find the end of it. The sudden lack of rounds ricocheting off the tank, the battlefield behind you not instead of around you, tempted you to open the hatch to turn out again. The moment you peeked your eyes over the top of the cupola, though…you saw something move in the corner of your eye, forcing you down again. When you looked at the same place, a little rise a good fifty meters off the road, you saw nothing. When you passed by it, you saw footprints going down and away. There were infiltrators- but how many, and how strong? You’d report it once you got a little further. Just a couple people unwilling to fight you wasn’t enough to bother Van Halm with at present- especially since you heard his m/32’s cannon barking a plenty.

Then…a few minutes down the road, there was something more.

Some trailer wagons had been abandoned by the road, and dust clouds and tracks told of vehicles that had run off before you arrived. Somebody had been doing something here…

“Driver, halt,” you said, and as the tank stopped, you peeked over the cupola, and looked over the scene with your binoculars. It was easy to see what was going on- the digging, the stacks on the wagons, the dust and the most incriminating materiel scattered haphazardly on the ground…mines. Of a broad variety.

“Four-four?” you requested over the radio. You were still in decent range. “I’ve interrupted an enemy attempt to sabotage and mine the road to the west.”

“Busy right now,” Van Halm replied after a delay, “Do what you think you should.”

“Should I come back?”

No response. You presumed that was just ”Don’t make me repeat myself” You did have the codes for reporting higher up the chain, if need be, but only for your company. It was sent along nevertheless, even though Hausen reported that the reception and transmission were bad.

>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.
>Stay here in case any allies-or enemies- come around. You’d need to warn the former, and punish the latter.
>Stay to try and clear out the mines. You weren’t pioneers, but you had to try, didn’t you?
>Try and chase down the infiltrators. They couldn’t have gone far.
>Other?

>>4613620
>>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.

>>4613620
>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.

>>4613620
>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.

>>4613620
>>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.

>>4613620
>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.

>>4613620
>>Destroy the wagons and go back. You’d done what you could here.
I mean we are a tank. Our whole purpose is to drive around. Also I don't know if we can radio that there are mines in this part of our lines, but maybe the destroyed trucks are warning enough.

>>4613629
>>4613645
>>4613651
>>4613671
>>4613677
>>4613679
Commit wagon vandalism and leave.

Writign.

Anya got into the Mittelsosalian army in exchange for amnesty for criminal charges right? Has she been pardoned already and is in a regular army unit or is in a penal unit and will be pardoned at the end of her service?

There was little more you could do- other than to deny assets to the enemy if they came back to collect them later.

“Gunner,” you said to Schafer, “Destroy those wagons. We’ll head back after we destroy those things and their contents decently.”

“What about the mines?” Hausen asked.

“What should we do about them?” You asked back, “We aren’t pioneers. We don’t have the equipment to safely remove those mines, and we don’t have signs, either. I reported the mines to the company frequency, but I don’t know if they heard me.”

“Paet affew haeles inde graend,” Jorgen proposed, “Toss abaet dirten draw thaeye.”

“Northman’s right. Nobody’s of the mind t’ drive over a messed up road.” Schafeer said thoughtfully, “Rounds going out.” The cannon recoiled, and one wooden wagon burst asunder in a cloud of flame and smoke. The turret turned, and then the same fate befell another. The third wagon took two shots instead of one, but it was soon a pile of smoldering rubble as well. The road was subjected to three shots, and with that being deemed sufficient, you turned back round and started on your way back.

You might have forgotten plenty about war and tactics and only made a start at relearning what you lost, and perhaps, learning in a different path, but you knew well that this was a situation that shouldn’t have been happening. The lines were overstretched- the enemy didn’t need to flank you if they could come out and lay mines on the roads. True, the ones who had done that hadn’t been prepared to fight you, a singular tank, else they wouldn’t have fled. Yet if this group could slip between, then what else could? How much further down the road would you have to go to find allies again?

It wasn’t your place to know. Maybe Van Halm knew, maybe not- maybe your platoon leader, Captain Vehrlors, knew. Your company sans you and your platoon partner were still pressing forward last you’d heard. Hell, you didn’t even know if you and Van Halm were supposed to hold until relieved, or just until the local commander was demanded to return you to your company. You’d likely only find out once this current attack stopped, and who could say when that would be? When you had left, it felt as though much fire had been exchanged but little decisive effect had been had on either side.

One part of the picture was clear, though. Naught was stopping the Sosaldtians from sweeping around through the gaps in the line, if they had sufficient numbers. Maybe the numbers necessary were held up in other places? The Republic troops were supposed to be engaging them from the front, after all, whilst you were deep in their rear.

Back to the battle, marching to the sound of guns. You hid back under the hatch far before you rounded the hill again, expecting to find the place as you left it. Only to be wrong.

The trenches had a few panzergrenadiers in them, but most of them were gone. You deigned to radio Van Halm to ask just what was going on- though you guessed when you spotted his tank up near the flank of the hill ahead.

”They’ve underestimated us, Four-Five,” Van Halm said confidently, “This won’t last, though. If we’re going to exploit this we have to do it now. These two platoons are-“ He utilized the code terminology for them being low on ammunition, though it took a moment to realize that. “So, Four-Five. Are you feeling lucky? Nothing puts somebody on the floor quite like following a jab up with a hook to the jaw.”

Not an order or a command, but a request of opinion. Despite his tone, Van Halm must not have been completely certain of the odds. Only that he smelled opportunity.

>You’d have to count yourself out. Who could say if this wasn’t a feint? You had a perfectly good line of defense here. There couldn’t be anything you could reach in time anyways that this offensive couldn’t stand to lose.
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?
>Other?

>>4613978
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?

>>4613978
Attack, if we have the initiative then its best to keep it by playing aggressive

>>4613964
Mittelsosalia doesn't really have enough organization at present to have a thing like a standard penal system, at least, nationally rather than locally based. The general idea of the Republic conscripting from these locally based prisons is that the Republic government takes the criminal off the local's hand for small compensation, and then trades a pardon for service in the present conflict for its duration- with understandable accommodations for risk of desertion, ie, imprisonment or execution depending on the temperament of whoever catches them.

Of course, this doesn't necessarily equate to frontline combat roles. Desertion, after all, is far less likely when ex-convicts are relegated to logistics and support roles.

Suffice it to say Anya is a motorcycle courier volunteering for carrying messages to isolated frontline units because no matter how good she is at paperwork she'd rather be shot at than touch a typewriter.

>>4613978
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?

>>4613978
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?

>>4613978
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?
I'll take Van Halm's fist metaphor over holes and grinding.

>>4613978
>>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?
I am willing to bet if there is equipment worth destroying, the enemy would be using it in any other place on the line than where our tanks are. Right now we are pinning ourselves down at no loss for the enemy side, and I don't think these people would be the patient kind to keep a massed attack back to wait for us to move when the rest of the line is being engaged fully.

>>4613978
>>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?

>>4613978
>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?

>>4613978
>>Anything was better than sitting in a hole and waiting to be ground down. Certainly. Who could say what you might find that the enemy would hate to lose?
So the Panzergrenadiers pulled back for resupply?

Same situation as last night fellas, I'll say when things are done and I'm about through writing.

>>4614001
>>4614002
>>4614013
>>4614031
>>4614148
>>4614159
>>4614193
Let's get in that shit.

>>4614013
>I'll take Van Halm's fist
Gay.

>>4614193
>So the Panzergrenadiers pulled back for resupply?
No- a decent number are forward and the rest are holding position. The statement about ammunition was more a case of how things be. Pulling back for resupply would be very, very complicated at this juncture.

Update's almost out, just announcing my lack of death.

Rolled 3, 1 = 4 (2d6)

Anything was better than sitting impotently in a hole, waiting, practically deaf and near blind. The initiative was yours again, you wouldn’t surrender it now. Besides, what surprises could you run into, that the enemy wouldn’t want to lose in this unexpected maneuver? You never got anywhere by sitting still and waiting.

For better or worse.

“Alright then,” you said to Van Halm, “I’ll hurry on up. Do the panzergrenadier know what’s going on?”

“Well enough. Hurry, there’s not much time. If you give these wastelanders enough time to relax they’ll come back to their senses.”

“Keep going, I’ll be right there.” You switched to your intercom, “Mal, take us up by Van Halm’s tank, we’re going right in there.” Malachi only rarely spoke even confirmations now, but you knew he heard you well, as the tank lurched forward. “Keep High Explosive in the cannon. How are we on machine guns?”

“Fifty percent,” Hausen answered.

“Seventy percent ‘r so on th’ coaxial.” Schafer said after.

“…Making me look bad, eh?”

“Don’ need me shootin’ straight t’ do that,” Schafer said back.

The quantity of incoming fire had massively reduced- when you rolled up by the panzergrenadier, they were once again up and putting out their share of fire, rather than being forced into their holes and forced to take potshots. That they had expended so much ammunition still was concerning. The Silver Lances had a logistics unit especially for this, as they had no Battle Line to gain constant support from, but you were isolated from even them as far as you could tell. Your shell count was fine, but your machine guns could certainly do better.

“Forward!” Van Halm said, as his only message for you before you both began moving. You repeated the same to your driver- it was astonishing in a way, how the seas seemed to part for you both as you went forward, panzergrenadiers in clumps around you taking advantage of the opportunity to sow some vengeance as you went on.

A good two hundred meters later of what was like pushing through wet paper, no resistance offered in the face of your sudden aggression, you found some form of quarry- or perhaps, it found you. You only knew as Van Halm crested the shallow rise first, and reported it to you…

>1-2- Supply Point
>3-4- Close Support Position
>5- Unexpected Rivals

Rolled 6 (1d100)

“Crap,” Van Halm said into the radio, “There’s the guns.”

Van Halm seemed awfully unperturbed by this news.

>Enemy Roll DC 20 roll under

>>4614817
god damn it

With a mighty BHOOOM followed by a KRACK, you saw Van Halm’s tank get knocked backwards, out of your sight, and a massive dust cloud enveloped everything. When it thinned, you couldn’t see the tank anymore- like it had been scooped up by the Judge himself. Your heart snapped into your throat, and stuck there. Did…what happened?

Just…just like that?

>Roll 1d100, DC 70 for Resolve

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>4614825

Fucking hell

>>4614825
Rest in peace Van Halm, we hardly knew you.

The dryness in your throat was quelled. Your heart sank back again and beat normally, the dizziness making your eyes and head swim was driven away by a light of purpose. Of necessity. There was no time for this…cowardice.

A quick look around, a listen. Van Halm had gone over the top of the rise before you- and it was such a shallow rise, that surely you could look over and see it, with a risky craning of the neck, before falling back down again.

You did it. Quick enough to not invite any fire from over the hill. From what you saw in that glimpse, it was a pair of big, squat, wide bored artillery pieces, by a field of crates and transports that must have constituted a forward supply point. Maybe siege guns- but you noticed that of the pair, one had been knocked over, its crew scattered. Despite the surprise, Van Halm had still managed to trade a shot.

Then, behind. Van Halm’s m/32 was there, its front cracked and heaved in like a giant had kicked in the front of the thing, the armor bent in like it had been but a soda can. His m/32 was plain; its armor thinner even without accounting for your special advantage, and it had been flipped.

Concern. Anger. Consternation. What should you do?

>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.
>Get out and try to rip open Van Halm’s tank. Maybe he and his crew had merely been wounded. Maybe you could still help them.
>Retreat. This was a fight beyond you, and it was time to pull out what you could.
>Other?

>>4614842
>>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.
Get Malachi to go around slightly out of the arc of fire and hammer them; there's no way guns of this size can be shifted in time to track a moving tank.

>>4614842
>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.
Get the MGs firing as we crest the slope

>>4614842
>>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.
The whole group might also need those supplies.

Hopefully the panzergrenadiers will see if there are any survivors.

>>4614842
>>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.

If we're behind a rise we should use it to just peak our guns out and take a shot and retreat back down when they train their guns at us. Maybe try and get the panzergrenadiers up with us too? We have flags right maybe we can signal them with those? Or just yell and wave I don't know.

>>4614902
IIRC their trucks should have radios?

>>4614842
>Get out and try to rip open Van Halm’s tank. Maybe he and his crew had merely been wounded. Maybe you could still help them.
Time for a classic from the Von Tracht playbook, give Schafer the order to blow away that last gun, and tell Malachi he can maneuver how he sees fit to keep the hull gun firing on as many targets as possible after we ditch. Whatever is left of a hatch on Von Halm's tank is going to come loose with a cripple's strength or not at all I'd bet.

>>4614842
>Attack! This small bit of vengeance wouldn’t be denied to you. This hadn’t been done for nothing.
Pop up in hull down, shoot and scoot.

>>4614842
>Get out and try to rip open Van Halm’s tank. Maybe he and his crew had merely been wounded. Maybe you could still help them.
What would be the next step of this master plan?
Fuck if I know.

>>4614842
>>Get out and try to rip open Van Halm’s tank. Maybe he and his crew had merely been wounded. Maybe you could still help them.
>Call the Panzergrenadiers up to attack the artillery position from the flanks while we see to van Halm. A dispersed infantry attack will be much less vulnerable to that single gun than our tank

>>4614842
Seconding this >>4615377

Am here.
>>4614848
>>4614880
>>4614897
>>4614902
>>4614995
You have to take this- attack, and find victory!

>>4614942
>>4615018
>>4615377
>>4615625
These instants are vital- sacrifice the initiative, save your ally.

Close. Writing.

Jump out, you thought to yourself, go help Van Halm. Even if you couldn’t pry open the hatches by hand, there were tools to do that with. It was what you were supposed to do- hell, you were the most useless person in the tank, you could give your orders and leave, couldn’t you?

Whether doubt was the decider or the need to not delay a moment on following through, you didn’t jump out. You didn’t fumble for the prybar, and instead pushed your way out the top and pointed forwards with a shout.

“Panzergrenadier, forward!”

Whether they’d listen or not was a gamble. You weren’t their commander, and part of you wanted them to try and rescue any survivors of the other tank, if they could. Yet you still had much to do.

“Schafer,” you asked your gunner, “There’s two artillery guns on the other side of the hill. Van Halm took out one. If we pop over, can you shoot the other before it shoots us?”

“There’ll be a moment where they have a chance to take the first go. This gun’s depression ain’t great. The hull gun can’t get th’ first shot either. I’d say go around. Big pieces don’t turn quick.”

Noted. “Mal,” you said into the intercom, “Take us around at an angle, the arc of fire of those guns can’t be that wide and they’ll take longer to turn than we can go.”
The tank pivoted, and began to hook around the edge. A last glance was spared at the overturned tank as your vehicle pressed ahead of the advancing grenadiers and towards this enemy concentration. A flat travel angle continued as you hugged the slope, and when you saw the guns from a differing angle- yes, they had expected you, but as Schafer said, they couldn’t go fast enough.

“Not yet,” Schafer growled as the turret spun, aligning itself with the remaining position, “Straight on…stop.”

“Driver halt! Fire at will!”
>Ace Gunner-Knife Fighter- Targets at Close to Point Blank Range require no roll to hit

An explosive shell crashed into the side of the remaining artillery piece, and its barrel crashed into the ground ahead of it, something broken by the explosion and impact that rendered it useless now.

The enemy crumbled after that, faster than you could even recognize it, as the black coated panzergrenadier came up over the hill, and even before the machine gun teams began to lay raking fire across the supply dump, rifle volley fire crackled in powerful, overlapping echoes- it struck awe into you, and it must have been even more impressive to the enemy, who melted away like you’d only read about happening in the face of volley fire in times a century past.

A panzergrenadier was a terrifying thing on the offensive, it turned out, as you saw a man’s hand fly so fast across his Hagen rifle’s straight pull bolt that he was firing a self-loading rifle. When many others of the same caliber did the same, it sounded as though a hailstorm had suddenly begun, punctuated with thunder in the form of your m/32’s cannon and bow gun.

The enemy routed in the face of this raw power. It wouldn’t last, as cracks faded away and you looked over the captured guns and supply dump, but for now, there was a moment to breathe. Perhaps a moment for the Panzergrenadier to resupply, but…Strossvald’s rifles used 7.5mm ammunition, you had re-learned, while most other nations used 8mm ammunition. Why that was, you couldn’t recall- something to do with the Reich, but there was a possibility that unless the Panzergrenadier changed out their weapons, finding this wouldn’t do much good. Though they probably knew better than you what they were doing anyways, as they advanced for the place without any word from you on what to do. Their commander already had plans, it seemed. Denying this to the enemy was good too, you supposed.

“…Wait here,” you said as you felt your presence was no longer necessary, “If anybody from the grenadiers comes around, do as they say. Where’s the pry bar?”

“What are you doing?” Hausen asked.

“I’m going to rip open Van Halm’s tank. I need to see if-“

“Don’ be daft,” Schafer said like he was speaking to a child, “You’ve less fingers than most. Driver, take us back to the other tank. We’re all doing this.”

Malachi didn’t respond until you repeated the command. You didn’t know how to feel about that- you actually appreciated Schafer’s initiative, but, you were moving in time anyways. Time enough to find the tools.

Yet when you returned, you saw panzergrenadier wave you away from Van Halm’s tank, covered in dust, caved in, belly up like a dead animal.

“Clear away!” one of the panzergrenadier shouted up, “That thing’s smoldering. Unless you want the contents of those shells all over, you’d best keep away.”
Shit. Smoke was indeed coming out of the tank- it wasn’t visibly burning, but something definitely was causing smoke.

>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.
>The sacrifice would be worthless if you went and got yourself blown up- there was naught to be done.
>Other?

>>4615857
>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.

>>4615863
Also, our tank should have an extinguisher right? Take it out as well.

>>4615857
>>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.
He came to check on us when the assault gun blew up in our face. Poor on us to not return the favor.

>>4615857
>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.

>>4615857
>>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.
Get everyone to help, including the panzergrenadiers if they will. The more people we have the quicker we can pry it open before the fire spreads.

>>4615857
>It didn’t matter. You were already well burned- you would be a coward if you didn’t at least try to pry the thing open, no matter what was inside- and your father did not raise a coward.

>>4615863
>>4615870
>>4615875
>>4615876
>>4615883
Get up in the grill as it were.

>>4615868
Yes, that is the case.

Writing.

>>4615905
btw tanq, so what's the main reason for the Archduchy using the 7.5mm instead, even if Richter's forgotten it?

It’d be a poor favor to not at least try to help Van Halm when he stayed behind for you, fought alongside you. When you were already burnt as you were, the only excuse to fear the flames would be cowardice. Father raised…a man that might be many things, but not a coward.

“I’m not keeping awa,” you said hotly to the panzergrenadier, “I’m saving the crew. If you aren’t going to help me, then you stay away.” You hefted the pry bar and jumped over the side of the turret, down to the ground, followed wordlessly by your own turret crew, Jorgen carrying the fire extinguisher full of pressurized fire-quelling powder.

“God damn it,” one of the two panzergrenadier who had been obstructing you cursed under his breath, “Come on, then, let’s open this up. The faster we do this, the more time before we blow up.”

The side turret hatch appeared undamaged, though half buried. It was excavated in short order by Panzergrenadier with trench shovels, but when you tried to open it, it refused. As you should have expected.

The pry bar was jammed forcefully into the edge of the door, and even with you and two of your crew pushing, pressing, the door only wrenched away slowly. A small gap appeared, and thick, oily smoke spewed out.

“Hurry!” You urged as you let another take your place at the bar and moved to wrenching upon the hatch with your hands. With a final combined effort, the doors were opened- and a burst of smoke set you choking. Without thinking, you climbed inside and grabbed onto the first person you could feel, smoke blinding and suffocating you.

“Put on a mask, you madman!”

There wasn’t any time, you thought as you pulled out one crewman, then reached in for the next as Jorgen tried to squeeze by your flank to spray a cloud of extinguisher solution into the heart of the glow. From the turret position, maybe it was Van Halm, but you couldn’t see until you were out again- no, another crewman. You squinted through stinging, watered eyes into the turret again. The glow of flame was apparent, and you hadn’t been able to tell with your nerves as they were, but your gloves had been charred, and you felt searing pain in your digits. The Ellowian leather jacket had guarded you from the worst, it seemed. It would have to do so one more time.

“Wait,” a grenadier grabbed your shoulder as he intuited that you were going in to try for a third rescue, but you pulled away in a dive. The hull crew had no hope, you had already accepted, but damn it if you weren’t going to try..!

The far side of the turret had fire within, but you saw a shape on the other side. You’d have to crawl all the way in- all the way into the turret, all the way into the fire, the blinding and choking smoke. To think for a moment would make you balk. You went in, climbing around the detritus and upside-down architecture, the gun’s rear, the clanging shells, and grabbed about as even your bravado was beginning to fade away with the pain in your lungs and the heat all around…

>Roll 3d100, averaged, DC Roll under 50

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>4615922

>>4615907
Because of the Reich, who utilizes the 8mm round that is most commonly used on the continent. Some might say it's also because the round's higher velocity is effective even against the Reich's recently mass-deployed body armor, but the round's been around long before they began deployment of such and the standard grade of that is not rifle fire resistant anyways.

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>4615922

>Roll Average- 34
There he was, you felt him first with the edge of your fingers, then with half a hand. You grabbed onto Van Halm as though he were about to tumble off a cliff, under his arm, around his torso, and tried desperately to wriggle back.

You bumped into the edge of the turret, the gun, stumbled…yet you wouldn’t let Van Halm go, even as you felt your legs burning, your side…

Then a powerful set of hands found you and wrest you out. Clean air, the light of the afternoon sun, as you were dragged out over the dust before being doused with white dust in a prolonged blast.
The next words you had expected to hear had been anything but, “Fucking idiot.”

“Gghh,” you gasped.

“Did you forget your tanks carry Bertholite shells?” the panzergrenadier demanded, “How are you feeling?”

“Igghh,” you choked, “I think it’s…just smoke…” Judge Above, your lungs burned, but it was getting better, not worse. When you pushed yourself up and looked around, you were…a good ways away from the other tank now, behind your own tank. “How is…how are the crew?”

“Bad.” The Panzergrenadier sighed, “The Medical Company is way back at the town at the end of the road, and they look like they’ll need them. Even if we called the company medics here, they wouldn’t get here in time to do much with what they have.” He looked back out with a wary eye, “We need to get out of here quick. Major’s given us ten minutes to pick what we can out and destroy the rest. We’ll be back to the same soon and down a tank, I bet.”

“Yae aeghta see a maedic tou, boss,” Jorgen said, “Yae caught aleght.”

Well, it did hurt, but you doubted you were burned anywhere nearly as badly on your leg and hands as you were on your face. Your leather coat had managed to defend you well enough. The fire didn’t seem like it had been burning at its size long, but it had definitely not taken its time spreading over you- and the turret crew, apparently.
“There’s a few trucks too,” the other panzergrenadier said idly, “At least that’ll get us mobile again.”


>Demand that some Panzergrenadier be sent to take your wounded and theirs back to the Medical Company- you’d stay here to cover the difference.
>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.
>Hope that they’d fight hard and last long. They were out of the fire, but the rest of you were still too deep in the frying pan to leave your fortifications, meager as they were.
>Other?

>>4615941
>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.

>>4615941
>Demand that some Panzergrenadier be sent to take your wounded and theirs back to the Medical Company- you’d stay here to cover the difference.

figure a tank staying to defend is better than a couple of riflemen

>>4615941
>>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.
Panzergrens are pulling out soon anyway; our tank will be better used on the offensive breaking through the line.

>>4615941
>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.

>>4615941
>>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.
I don't balk at the capability of the panzergrenadiers, but down to one tank, I don't think we can offensively consider much and the defense of the line is going to be that much easier with those heavy guns taken care of. The one thing I know we can do for certain is more fast and keep our people safe, so I think we should do just that.

>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.

Man alive, these lines here are a complete mess. But whatever - get him and his men to the Medical Company. And maybe us too.

>>4615941
>You needed to get van Halm and his crew to treatment, fast, and with the lines in the state they were, that meant you had to break through with your tank.

>>4615945
>>4615950
>>4615962
>>4615965
>>4615973
>>4616070
Get out with everything, and your tank.

>>4615949
You still have business here, but your wounded don't.

Writing.

“I won’t be staying here, I’m sorry,” you said quickly, “I have to get these crew to the Medical Company, you said they’re at the town at the end of the road? I have to get there right away, and with things the way they are, that means I have to use my tank.”

The Panzergrenadier who was more assertive, perhaps an NCO, opened his mouth to come up with an objection, but hung on a silent syllable, before sighing and shrugging. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Hold on a second, I don’t think they’ll go far on the back of a tank if you run into trouble. Let me have a quick word with the Captain, we can work out something if we pack more wounded. Come on, Corporal.”

They were both off before you could object to this plan thrust upon you, but as you looked over the wounded crew and Van Halm, you felt a weakness pass over you that made you wary of turning down whatever aid you could get. Including first aid, potentially, but all the men on the ground needed that far more than you. It was hard to tell what was worse on them, the spalling, the bruising from being knocked over, or the burns on them, though they weren’t blackened like roasts, fortunately, but they were out cold and were staying out, only their breathing and incoherent groaning an indicator they might be alive, let alone cognizant.

“Can we try and do something for them now?” you asked your crew, “We can take out the first aid kit, and-“

“Besides making sure they’re not bleeding out,” Hausen cut in, “The best we can do is hurry. First aid kit’s not meant for treating this much of this sort of thing. Maybe we can keep you in this, though. Where does it hurt?”

“Errr,” you felt over yourself, “…My hands, my left leg. My ass.”

“Yae weare aflame thaere,” Jorgen agreed, “Hahar, yae craeze.”

This didn’t feel very funny to you, but Jorgen’s sense of humor was too strange to be upset over now. He did put you out, after all.

“Coolant topical and bandage,” Hausen said as he wrapped a length around your thigh, “It’s not the best but it’ll keep it from getting worse. Can’t cut off your clothes here so this crappy application has to do.”

“Thank you anyways.” It didn’t feel any better, if anything, it felt worse, with a cold stinging that made you grind your teeth together, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of flayer on your face. That sort of treatment put all sorts of pain into perspective.

Before long, a truck that looked like half of it had been put together from a machine older than you with the other half looking figuratively but also literally knocked up in a barn, came pulling up beside you.

“Captain’d like you to stay but I fobbed him off with extracting our wounded,” The NCO jumped out of the other side of the truck, his corporal apparently driving, “They’ve all been gathered by the HQ truck. Can’t miss ‘em. Everybody else we already had get in. You need help getting your lot in?”

“Yes please,” you said, “I don’t think I can…lift much very well right now.” You opened and closed your hands with a wince- they were definitely burnt all over. If you couldn’t hold your own in a gunfight before, you definitely couldn’t now. Hopefully it’d be better in…a few days, maybe? It wouldn’t look pretty once what was left of your gloves was taken off.

“Careful, ‘think that one might have broke a bone,” Schafer pointed out a crewman.

Things moved along apace, but as you were leaving for the initial trenches once more, you heard gunfire once again- it seemed like the reprieve you’d fought for would be even briefer than you had first assumed, but you could reasonably hope that the enemy wouldn’t be coming back stronger. Not after this punishment had been handed down.

There were less wounded than expected- at least, wounded who were willing to be put into the back of the truck. Still though, the back ended up full, and after a word of warning to the driver that there would definitely be mines on the way back and to keep behind you, you left the combat for a second time, perhaps, the last, for this group and yourself.

-----

Taking the tank turned out to be a good move. The shapes were still around- you knew there were watchers about, but none of them wanted to pick a fight with your m/32. Something you and your enemy could agree on. If only more of war were so easy as acknowledging who’d win and moving on.

Not that land mines had the same sense of self preservation. You avoided the first set that you already knew of, but only keen eyes and paranoia stopped you from the second set at a safe distance- a trick with an obstacle in the road with the mines off to the side of it where one would naturally want to go around. Damn well hidden too, but you remembered enough of woods technique to know the tricks of how to direct prey into a snare or a deadfall.

The third set of mines you expected, never came. Where you thought they’d be there was instead a squad of panzergrenadiers on patrol, who waved you forth to the town without a name at the end of the line.

That town had become a lynchpin of the line, from how well it was defending. The self-propelled guns by themselves were plenty fearsome, without the Panzergrenadier all about, mixed in with Republic troops who frankly looked rather lost next to their circumstantial allies. The constant movement of trucks in and out indicated the logistics battalion was taking no breaks, but that was from the start of the operation to here, and from what you saw, the lines were already far past this place. It all felt a mess, but when you remarked such to your crew, they all were in agreement that the mess had a sort of normalcy to it.

One procurement officer had been following you and the truck with you like a vulture- when you, with great relief, offloaded the wounded to the triage center to be processed by the Medical Company and their numerous Republic aides, they immediately began haggling for the handover of even this cruddy old fifth-hand truck. That was the panzergrenadier volunteer’s problem for now. Your own trouble was, when you were making arrangements with a triage officer, he noticed rather readily what his sort was experienced with- that you were wounded, however “lightly.”

“Burns are a vector for infection, untreated,” the triage officer explained to you patiently, “We can’t keep you here by force but I’d strongly recommend staying here overnight at least, so you can get proper treatment. If you need to justify it, don’t forget this place needs to be defended too. A tank will go so way towards keeping away more troublemakers.”

Technically, you didn’t have to turn yourself in to treatment. You hadn’t had direct contact with your platoon for half a day now. It was better for your health to stay and be treated, however long it took to do that with the unknown flow of wounded and your mild condition, but it was also a long time for you to be here instead of with your platoon, as you should be, on…well, your first day of battle with them.

>Thank them, but no, you have to head right back out. You’re needed, surely, especially with the platoon as a whole a tank down.
>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
>Other?

>>4616801
>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
More speed, less haste. Be pretty stupid if we get put out of commission for the rest of the operation because of an infection.

>>4616801
>Thank them, but no, you have to head right back out. You’re needed, surely, especially with the platoon as a whole a tank down.
When has Richter ever exercised self-preservation unless he had Hilda to shove in front of him?

>>4616801
Could we get them to bandage our wounds, but then not stay the night? If not, then my vote is for:
>Thank them, but no, you have to head right back out. You’re needed, surely, especially with the platoon as a whole a tank down.

>>4616801
>Thank them, but no, you have to head right back out. You’re needed, surely, especially with the platoon as a whole a tank down.
Get the basic treatment if possible

>>4616825
>>4616828
Supporting

>>4616801
>>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
It's not just Richter that is taking a risk going out injured, if it gets any worse and he can't command effectively it puts the rest of the crew at risk. The commander position is taxed pretty heavily so far with the terrain conditions, not to mention the presence of minefields and infiltrators making things even more troublesome.

>>4616801
>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.

>>4616801
>>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
With van Halm's tank knocked out even if we make it back to the platoon we'd only be adding one more tank to its strength, and if our burns become infected we'll be out of the fight anyway. In this case it's worth the extra time to make sure we're fully combat capable again, plus we'll be able to get an update on van Halm's condition. While we're here maybe we can get some intelligence or a good enough radio to contact command and get a solid location for the rest of our platoon so we can rejoin them quicker when we do depart rather than wandering around in the wastes until we find them.

>>4616801
>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
But we have to find a radio or some kind of messenger to tell us about and in turn inform our unit so they can know the situation. If they already passed down the order that the tanks would stay behind to help defend then they won't be expecting us back anytime soon.

>>4616828
After thinking over it for a while, I'll swap to
>It’d be stupid to go back out as you were now. Basic self-preservation was an important part of a commander’s duties. Stay here until morning, at least.
Try our damnest to get back into radio contact with the platoon though so we know what the heck's going on.

>>4616820
>>4616825
>>4616869
Thanks but no thanks. I'll take the express option if possible. Kiss it better.

>>4616819
>>4616878
>>4616899
>>4616947
>>4617045
>>4617111
Take the advice to be healed properly. You'd get lost on the way back anyways, probably. Also, get in contact, find out the situation while you're at a stable place.

Writign.

>>4617153
>Inb4 another perspective shift

>>4617181
Local Quest No Longer Knows Who its Player Character Is.
Next perspective shift is Von Neubaum. No, not really.

It didn’t feel good to stay back, along with your tank, but thinking about it, it’d be just stupid to go back out as you were now. Part of basic command duties was self-preservation…even if you weren’t particularly good at that, but compared to jumping out to try and rally troops or dueling snipers, succumbing to infection would just be embarrassing. At the very least, you’d stick around until morning. Whether or not you were truly better by then, you’d at least not have gone off as you were.

“Alright,” you said, “Sign me up for it then. I’ll tell my crew to take a position, and stay here until morning. Is there a place I can get in touch with my company? I need to give my platoon leader an update on what’s happened to me and the crew I brought here. The line’s…a mess.”

“Tell me about it,” the triage officer lamented, “Yes, there’s a detachment of the signal company here. You can have a message sent along and be pretty sure it’ll get there. Either that or you can talk to one of the Republic Couriers about it, if you can convince any, at least. Speaking of,” He wrote something on a clipboard, “There’s a few people watching over a Republic medical detail. You’re an easy enough patient. You don’t mind being sent there, do you?”

“As long as their cure isn’t sawing my limbs off.”

“Oh no, ha,” the triage officer found that funny, “They aren’t being trusted with amputations. They can handle cleaning and dressing wounds well enough. Takes a load off the actual doctors and surgeons.” That didn’t fill you with confidence, but you kept your mouth shut as the triage officer handed you a white cord with a tag he scribbled something on. “Go off that way holding that up,” he said, waving deeper into town, “Somebody will grab you and square you away.”

“Thanks,” you said dully before you went back to your tank and explained what was going on. You set your crew free to figure out where to place themselves, as you went off looking for the Republic Medical Detachment, hoping their care wouldn’t consist of splashing you with moonshine and drugging you silly with morphine, as had been standard sometimes when you were in charge, or so you’d heard.

A boy who wasn’t nearly big enough for his uniform or old enough to be serving as anything grabbed you as you walked around and dragged you off- at least he was alert and astute, despite not possibly being older than thirteen. Certainly not a child soldier, with the lack of any weaponry whatsoever- a volunteer, perhaps? It was a better fate for a stray child than resorting to brigandry, at least.

Not many people were waiting to have their wounds cleaned, or whatever minor thing afflicted them, apparently- you were by yourself. Whether that was good or bad was up to interpretation. The wait was expected, but what wasn’t expected was who came out to see you.

File: tcqscene177.png (525 KB, 550x900)

525 KB PNG

“Hello? Do you neAAIIIEEE!” A light haired brunette in a simple, early model uniform with an apron around her stepped out, took one look at you, and screeched, jumping up like she was startled. Well. That was the first time you’d had that reaction, but it had to happen sometime, didn’t it. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the young woman cleared her throat and tried to smile slightly, “That wasn’t very nice of me, it’s just…you surprised me. That’s all. You’re not here because of, er, that, are you?”

“No,” you said flatly, concerning the ugly dark blotchy burn over half your face, “That’s old. I crawled into a fire and burned myself some.” This woman was…familiar? Especially around the face. Wait, yes, she was-

“That voice?” She seemed to have the same realization that you’d both met before. “Wait, you’re…that man Anya left with?”

“You are Alina?” you asked right after. A rhetorical question. You just needed a better look at her to recognize her, easily, especially with those facial features that matched her sister’s.

“Yes!” Alina put her hands together, “And you’re…ah, I’m sorry, I…don’t remember. It’s been a long time, mister..?”

“Von Tracht. Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht.”

“Yes, Richter.” Alina stepped forward with a small frown, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you because of…you know.”

“It’s alright,” you said. Some brute had groped her- evidence left behind in the form of a bloody handprint on Alina’s chest. Deplorable.

“Anyways,” she took the tag and white cord from you, “I see. Come along here. I…actually want to talk to you. We can do that while I help you.” She beckoned for you to follow, and you stood up to go to what turned out to be an inn room converted into a very basic infirmary bed, with a bunch of other beds crammed into the room as well, all presently vacant but stained by earlier use.

“I didn’t know you were a nurse,” you said as you sat on one of the beds and waited.

“I’m not.” Alina said, which was the last thing you wanted to hear, “I do have a guide to read, though!”

“If you’re not a nurse, then…why are you here?” You asked next. You doubted that there was obligatory conscription going on for nurses of all things.

“That’s…” Alina frowned, “…There’s people I want to help. Well, one person particularly. It’s…it’s…” Alina brushed her hair away from her face. “I want to ask you something first,” she said as she picked up a pair of scissors, hurriedly consulting a book, “Hold our your hands, I need to get your gloves off, but while I do this. How has Anya been? Has she been good? She was…how she usually is, but she didn’t bother telling me much before she…went away again.”

>?

>>4617325
>"Anya's been....Anya. Lots of stuff happened when we were away, some good, some bad. But the most important thing is she's alive and well."

Give her a brief overview of Anya's antics in Ellowie, maybe focus more on the part with the King and Magnus rather than say the Duchess or the Hogs

>>4617325
Oh fuck no, another woman who will have her life ruined because of Richter.

>"Anya's been....Anya. Lots of stuff happened when we were away, some good, some bad. But the most important thing is she's alive and well."
>"Wait, went away again?"

>>4617336
>>4617337
I agree with these but just make sure we tell her about the dress and the ball, that would be funny.

>>4617336
>>4617337
Supporting

>>4617336
>>4617337
>>4617339
Yes to all three.

Also, she's wearing a collar too? Maybe she copied off of Anya. Or maybe she wears it for the Mayor for other reasons...

>>4617325
"Anya kinda went through some shit with us, and while she is mostly better now I think she still blames herself for not being able to help with some things that happened."
"But what about you? I would take Anya as the one to run off into danger because she was bored. What brings you out into a warzone?"

“Anya’s been…” you trailed off, before settling on something you knew you’d both get. “…Anya. There’s too much to really tell, but some of what happened was good, some was bad, but the important part is that she’s alive and well. The bad things didn’t keep her down, but I think she might blame herself for a few things. But, what do you mean, she went away again?”

Alina sighed as she pulled the remains of your gloves off and shoved your sleeves up, turning pages in her booklet, searching. “She…you’ve seen us. I love her, and she loves me, I know, but, we have our differences. She showed up at the door with a big bag of money, and told me to take it and leave our hometown. It’s…that’s her money, you know?” Alina’s tone turned frustrated as she dug out a basin and went to the other room to presumably get water, talking the while in a louder tone so you could hear. “I don’t need to take from her to go someplace I don’t want to go. Our home isn’t perfect, it’s not even good, I bet, but it’s home. Our mother worked hard to give us what we had, our home, our things. I’m not going to leave all that behind just because Anya hates her so much. Then she had the nerve to call me a whore!”

Treading carefully was never your strong suit. “Well,” you tested as Alina came back and put some sort of powder into the water in the basin, “Are you?”

“No!” Alina said sharply, “…Sorry. I know you didn’t mean that as an insult, but whenever Anya says that word, she means it with every bit of spite. She just thinks that because…” Alina shifted uncomfortably, before setting the basin before you and putting your hands in it, “Sometimes, you have to do things you don’t like. I know enough about life to accept that. Just because it happened a few times in the past, doesn’t mean it’s all that ever happens. Anya just…ugh. Anyways.”

“Things you don’t like?” You looked to the bloody handprint on her.

“This?” Alina suddenly smiled and put her hand on her breast, “Ohhh, no, this was…a wounded man asked if he could, and I just decided, why not? A man as wounded as he was deserved to have his day brightened, I suppose. Back to Anya, though. She called me a whore. I called her a suicidal idiot head over heels for a dead man. She picked a fight after that, and then a few troopers rushed over and locked her up for disturbing the peace.”

“I suppose that’s like her. Getting arrested for disturbing the peace.” She had knocked out a gendarme in Ellowie with a single swift kick when she was drunk, or something close to it. You didn’t know if Anya had a middle name, but you’d bet anything it was Belligerent.

Alina was more regretful than resigned like you were, her frustration washing away. “I shouldn’t have fought her, but, I was mad. She just thinks everything but her damn freedom doesn’t matter in the slightest. I mean…you know, she’s beautiful, isn’t she. She’s got Mother to thank for that, at the very least. Then the first time I see her again, after who knows how many years of thinking I’d never see her again, and she’s put that hideous gouge in it, and it’s there because…” She shook her head with a huff. “I can’t do what she says. It’d be throwing away her own sacrifice, too. Did you know, she rescued me from kidnappers? Did she tell you that story?”

“She did.”

“How am I supposed to just throw away everything she did, that Mother did, just so…” Alina took a breath and settled down, “Sorry. She’s just…such an idiot. She got arrested, and when I went to see her, the jailer said she had taken an offer for conscription for freedom. She wouldn’t have even been in for more than a few days, but she just…wants to throw her life away.” The feeling was mutual between sisters. Whenever Anya talked about Alina, she never failed to call her stupid. “I’m distracting myself from helping you. That’s why I’m here, though. I couldn’t stand the thought of me causing her to get involved in this, and I wanted to…maybe help her. Help her like she helped me, when there wasn’t any hope.”

So Anya had gotten herself in the Army of the Republic. The front was so large, though, that the chances of Alina treating Anya in case of being wounded were far-fetched. Not that you’d bring that up. Hopefully her new superiors had the sense to not put her in infantry duties. Though, if you found her again...Strossvald law did state that a retinue was only beholden to whom they served...

“Maybe you should speak more on what you two did. But…” She took your hands back up and daubed at them with a clean cloth rag, “What do you think? I’m not wrong, am I? I know Anya’s been up to her usual, with you, I can infer that, but shouldn’t she just…settle down?”

Oh, good. A competition between sisters you were asked to judge. Next thing, your wife would be asking you to compare herself and her sister. They were eerily identical, though, Alina and Anya were…quite different. Though they had a similar look about the face and the shape of their hair.

…Anya was cuter, though. Your retinue and friend of uncomfortable attractiveness. That didn’t mean she was infalliable, but you were…biased.

>Anya should settle down, but she’s not going to. Maybe she will. You think she can learn that she can be fond of living men, again.
>Alina just didn’t understand. For you to criticize Anya for her lust for adventure would be hypocrisy on your part. She wouldn’t be happy any other way, and shouldn’t her sister accept that?
>Other?

>>4617836
>Other: how the hell can we judge others' lives when we can't get our own shit in order?

>>4617836
>>Other?
We were recently put in the position ourselves of having to choose whether to stay at home or go back into the fight. We're still not sure if we made the right decision, or if it's even possible to know. Ultimately maybe people just have to go with their gut and accept the consequences.

>>4617836
>>Other
My opinion doesn't really matter here, it's not like Anya would settle down even if I ordered her to. But that said, sometimes you just have to agree to disagree. There's not really a right or wrong answer to this question.

Maybe draw up comparisons between Richter's dad and his uncle; afaik Papa von Tracht made his peace with his brother's lifepath.

>>4617868
supporting

>>4618148
That's a good comparison, supporting adding that as well.

>>4618148
I like this

>>4618148
+1

Alright I'm alive again.

>>4617863
Do I look like somebody who can judge others? No but that's literally your name :^)

>>4617868
>>4618211
Listen to the gut. Facilitate this with an open shirt.

>>4618148
>>4618352
>>4618959
>>4618966
Let me sing you a song about lawyers and exiles.

Writing.

You weren’t exactly the best judge of good and poor decisions, you thought to yourself, but Alina didn’t want that sort of answer. Nor did you think siding with one person or the other was proper, either. There was something more objective beyond that- and it was actually quite close to you, in several ways. A thing of what way your ancestors went- and what path you had chosen to follow.

“I had the choice to stay home or go back to fight once more, just before I came here,” you told Alina, “I don’t know if it was the right choice. I don’t think anybody can say whether or not it was, I just know that it was mine, and I was willing to accept the consequences of it.” Your present consequences were rather mild compared to what had already happened before anyways.

Alina wasn’t pleased with that answer, judging by her huff. “Well. I don’t see what’s here that’s better than where you came from. Don’t you live to the west? People usually came here because they couldn’t live somewhere better, you know.”

That would be too long a story to go over here, you thought as she finally got to binding up the burns on your hands, though there were others to go. “My opinion doesn’t really matter here anyways. If I did tell your sister to settle down, she wouldn’t be any less dismissive. If you’re never going to agree anyways, then maybe you shouldn’t let it drive a wedge between you. It didn’t between my father and my uncle.”

“Why, was your father an idiot and your uncle not?”

…Subtle. “No. My father, Geroldt Von Tracht, is a legal practitioner, while Heller Von Tracht came here and became a mercenary after he found himself disgraced from soldiering.” You couldn’t remember the whole story. Maybe you’d never heard it, but it was hard to tell with the holes in your recollection. “But despite their differences, father made his peace with his brother’s adventurousness, and so too did Heller, I think.” Not that your mother ever did. She and your uncle…didn’t get along. Not from what you remembered, and not from how she disapproved of reminiscing about him. “Father said once that his brother was trying to do what made him satisfied with his life, and that he wanted the same for him, with time. Father himself didn’t follow the usual family trade, our blood heritage.”

“Which was?” Alina asked.

“Dying in battle, mostly.” With exceptions that proved the rule.

“Well, don’t do that,” Alina said, annoyed, “It’d make this feel pointless.” She sighed again, long and slow, “I wouldn’t mind it so much if Anya wasn’t so critical of me. Was your uncle like that? The one called Hell? She’s obsessed with him, after all.”

“No, actually,” you did remember that- things you had forgotten tended to be information rather than things experienced. As far as you figured. “Heller found out he couldn’t have children. He was…a womanizer, we’ll say. Father said Heller told him plenty how much he envied what he had, so, I suppose he didn’t think he could go down that same path in the first place.”

“Hmph,” Alina sniffed, “Well, Anya doesn’t have that excuse, now does she.”

“What?”

“Never mind, it’s not important,” Alina muttered, “You said you were going to tell me about what you and her were up to?” More brightly, wanting to leave that subject behind.
Best to leave out things like Anya losing her old friends, or being beaten into a pulp by the Duchess’s goons. As she worked, you set up the vast amount of context necessary for anything to make sense. Your (on paper) mission there, what you were doing, who was who and what they did or wanted- nothing that wasn’t public knowledge, of course. “I took Anya to a Langenachtfest party hosted by the High Protector, the King. I never thought she’d wear a dress, but she did for that. Danced with her. She foiled an assassination attempt on the King and got into his good graces.”

Alina took a moment to absorb all that. What she took out of that was, “Anya wore a dress? And danced? I didn’t know she could.”

“She can’t. Neither can I. It was interesting.”

“But you took her?” Alina squinted into your eyes, “Are you and her…? No,” she shook her head, “You were all handsy with that red headed girl. I don’t take you for a rake, and Anya would smell that more readily than me.”

Thank goodness that you didn’t have to explain that to yet another person. Thank goodness also that you weren’t going to speak on any of the times you got blackout drunk with each other, or the aftermath of such. “Purely platonic.” Purely platonic thigh biting. Judge above, you really did need to edit out a lot of things when retelling this, didn’t you. “She made friends with this Netillian officer called Edelschwert, too. I didn’t expect that. When they were first acquainted, she really, really didn’t like him, because he blamed her for mistakes she didn’t make, or at least, wasn’t responsible for. They made up later. I let him take her to the second gathering we attended.”

“Let him,” Alina snorted, “Sorry, that just sounds silly to me.”

You felt your ears heat up. “I was trying to watch out for her. She is my retinue.”

“Your retinue. Mm hm.” She tightened a bandage around a section of your leg. One would think it’d be awkward to be without your trousers, but she didn’t make issue of it, so it was easier to pay it no mind. “Was she good at what she did? She always tells me she’s a very talented fighter, but her head is full of hot air.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you countered, “She’s quite brave, very talented. I trust her with my life. I don’t remember her ever failing me, but sometimes she doesn’t know when she’s at her limit.”

“I’d be surprised if she thought she had one,” Alina said wearily. “But she went away from you, didn’t she. I wonder if that’s good for her. If she’s left to her own devices, I’d think she’d end up dead sooner or later. Better to have somebody watching her back.”

“It would have been improper to force her to stay against her wishes, even if I could possibly do that.” Or so you’d like to say, but when you thought about it, there would be ways to get her to stay, if you wanted. That was it though. If she didn’t want to be joined at the hip, then you weren’t going to insist on it.

Alina remained somber the rest of your time recounting her sister’s service with you; when everything was done, she gave a little curtsy and a smile that was well practiced; perhaps genuine. She did appear to genuinely like helping people. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll change the bandages and I’ll call a doctor to look at things. Until then, don’t push yourself, alright? And, thank you for telling me about Anya. Usually we’re…fine. But when she leaves, I never know when she’ll come back. If she’ll come back.”

>Anything else you wanted to ask or talk about?
>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.
>Other?

>>4619852
>>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.

>“Hmph,” Alina sniffed, “Well, Anya doesn’t have that excuse, now does she.”
Did Anya get knocked up?

>>4619852
>If Alina wishes to pass a message to Anya, we can do it if we happen upon her.

>>4619852
>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.
also >>4619873

>“Hmph,” Alina sniffed, “Well, Anya doesn’t have that excuse, now does she.”
Very dark implications.

>>4619852
>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.

>>4619852
>>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.
Time to go find the signallers

>>4619852
>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.

>>4619852
>>Get back out to your crew. If you spend too much time with Alina she’ll surely end up more like her sister in at least one way.
Who is the real Richter, the magically altered brave one? The free and fearful one? No says I, it is the insanely drunk one, who goes on adventures we can never know.

Alive once more.
>>4619981
>>4620010
>>4620049
>>4620084
Back to the crew. And the signal company soon.

>>4619873
I'm a messenger boy.

>>4619861
>>4619882
Something.

Writinng.

“Thank you,” you started with, but there had been a particular, small thing that Alina said that disturbed you. “Though when you said, Anya doesn’t have the excuse of…being unable to have children, do you mean..?”

Alina blinked. “What? No, that’s not what I meant,” Alina said hurriedly, “I meant that your uncle knew, but…you know, never mind. Again. It really isn’t important, but she thinks it is. Ask her.”

“Speaking of. If I happen to run into her again soon, do you have something you want me to pass as a message?”

“I want you to punch her as hard as you can and tell her that she’s an immature, ungrateful idiot that won’t accept anybody’s love except a corpse’s.” Alina said bitterly, standing up, “And that I want her to come home, or at least stop being a vagrant and find a home. Maybe then I won’t have to rely on the wind blowing her in.”
“I’m not going to punch her.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Alina said as she went for the door, “Even if that’s what she really needs.”

-----

The crew was very briefly checked upon- they’d set themselves up by the Self Propelled Guns, and had traded something for flavored cigarettes that they were sharing. All of them except Malachi, that is, who was sitting by himself , forlornly staring a box of small, wooly white mountain flowers whose name escaped you.

“From home?” you asked, striking up conversation. You had a little time you could spare for your driver before you went off to ask the signal company to give your report to your company, and by extension your platoon commander Captain Vehrlors.

“Nahhh, frommemark, nopeckere.” From the market, apparently? A market, at some point. “Esforemck, Yjens.”

“For…Emck?”

Malachi launched into what must have been an explanation, but despite his struggling, and slowing down, you really couldn’t understand it, and weren’t sure if it was because it was a strange mountainfolk tradition or you were just hearing him wrong.

“You…burn the flowers?” You tried to confirm.

“MaeksmogaveYjens.””

“But you can’t do it alone.”

“Yah.”

“Well. I could do it with you.”

That elicited a hoarse laugh out of the mountain man. “Nahhnoh, hathbegerl.”

“Has to be with a woman. But why?”

“Yaeluuklehkwanfuck, Yjenslehkman, noohn.”

“…Fuck?”

Malachi stared at you tiredly and waved his hand. He didn’t want to try and bridge this language gap, it seemed. “Ehgoddet.”

“If you say so,” you said, glancing back over at the other side of the tank at Jorgen smoking and joking with the others.

“Ehhy.” Malachi said before you thought to leave him alone, “Yuudedguhdthere.”

“Oh.” You looked back down. “Er. Thanks. I guess I just…had to do it, really.”

Malachi shrugged at that, but thinking back to it…were you braver there? Or just crazy? It didn’t feel as abnormal as it might have once…
>The whispers of doubt are fading. When you tell yourself you can do something, the jeers are not so loud. You’re so close, now.

When you made your way over to the Signal Company field headquarters, you found it…in a state of confusion, consternation. Not the usual sort.

“Are you a courier?” You were immediately asked when you came in.

“What? No.” You gave the staff officer a look like he was an idiot, but to be fair, your Ellowian jacket covered up a lot of the evidence that you were a Panzer Officer. The staff officer pushed past you without another word, but you whipped around and got back in front of him. “Wait,” you said, “I have to pass along a message, I’m separated from my company, and I need to tell my platoon officer that I’m-“

“Yeah, good luck with that,” the signal company staffer said harshly, without any further explanation.

It took some more effort to find out who you were supposed to talk to, and a little more past that to actually clear up what was going on.

“Can’t pass anything along right now,” another staff officer told you, one that was handling numerous requests like yours, from how tired his tone was, “There’s something keeping the radios from transmitting. It’s not equipment failure, everything’s working. There’s some sort of heavy interference over most of our long range frequencies. We’ve been trying to find anything that isn’t being blown up with static. Haven’t gotten reports from the air or anything, thinking it might be some sort of storm that came out of nowhere, somewhere.”

“…So when will it clear up?” You asked, all this over your head, though sounding worse and worse the more you thought about it.

“We’re working on it, it’s not magic, you can’t just slap the air and make the radio waves clear up,” the staff officer said heatedly, “There’ll be a long damn line. May as well come back next the sun rises.”

“Fine,” you said, trying to hide frustration behind a tilt of your cap downwards, “Thank you anyways.”

At least Van Halm and his remaining crew were safe, you thought, but the current situation was precarious even with proper communications. The Silver Lances were capable, stern troopers, but was all of the line so extended? Would the Republic troops stand in this? Then again, their lack of communication equipment might have meant they wouldn’t be as affected, if this problem was more widespread and not local. Hopefully it was just local misfortune.

The bad feeling wasn’t restricted to you. As the sun set, you saw the Silver Lances filling sandbags, digging trenches, the self-propelled gun crews and anti-air detachments working particularly hard to make fortresses out of what they already had. No order had been passed down- they worked on instinct, and it was setting off the Republic troops too.

…Should you be doing something yourself, you wondered.

>?

>>4620492
Probably practicing our shooting, but that likely won't tide over well in the current environment.

Nothing physical so he can heal, catching up on our reading, or composing another sappy letter or maybe actually resting. Big day tomorrow.

>>4620492
Richter might only be in charge of a tank in the Silver Lances right now, but he used to be (maybe still is I don't remember) one of the ranking members of the Republic Army. I would say find a Republic trooper and climb up the chain of command to the top. Best case scenario its a person who is supposed to be there and already knows just about what we know. Worst case scenario its some junior lieutenant who is in desperate need of some authority and direction lent by the Kommandant.

>>4620492
>>4620537
Taking some republic troops for the journey tommorow as kommandant would be cool if we could pull it off, let's try that. If we can't just make sure to write maddy a letter and take it easy.

>>4620492
>?
Well this kind of screams 'massive counterattack impending' to me. Get our crew (including ourselves) to at least have a person on watch, I wouldn't be surprised if they tried a night battle or something.

>>4620492
>Select a good positon ot fortify our tank in, put the crew to it then follow >>4620537

>>4620492
Supporting
>>4620537
>>4620625
>>4620656

>>4620492
What he >>4620660 said

I live again.

>>4620523
Be a nerd.

>>4620537
>>4620615
>>4620656
Try and use some of that old clout you have with Eyebrows, dig in.

>>4620625
>>4620660
>>4620690
Especially dig in and find help because this bad feeling is contagious.

Writing.

It would have been nice to pass time in a fashion that wouldn’t aggravate the building of stress. Light reading, perhaps writing a letter to your spouse- the latter was decided on anyways. Just nothing physical that might exacerbate your wounds. The thought of Maddalyn and your hands led you to forlornly clench them and open them again, feeling the mild pain still there on purpose. At least you hadn’t burned your tongue, difficult as that would have been to do.

The unease of the town turned base was infectious, though, and there was more reason to prepare than to indulge in leisure. Besides the most basic steps of putting your tank into an expected direction of attack and arranging a watch (something you didn’t actually need to do, it seemed, when you checked- it very well was possible that every single one of your crewmen was more experienced than you at this), there was unique opportunity here, with the presence of Republic troops. Though you only commanded one tank and its crew in the Silver Lances, the authority of the Archduchy wasn’t the only command you’d accumulated over time. Even random troops visiting Ellowie with Signy had recognized that you were the Kommandant, and hopefully, that same repute would serve you here in drawing people to your command.

Time had changed what would become Mittelsosalia’s troopers. They still lacked for helmets, mostly, but their wear was far less slapdash and hurried than it once was. Their weapons were cleaner, their posture straighter. They looked meek next to the panzergrenadier, but there was still the glint of wasteland fierceness in their expressions, but they still wore symbols of their identity upon them. In a way, the non-uniform expressions of the Silver Lances and that of the Republic troopers had a sort of harmony to it.

Though, the Army of Mittelsosalia was yet untested. This would be their first time against a true enemy- not against the Northern Lords, nasty as they and their forces were, they could not hope to compare to the Netillians. The Netillians were not fiercer- a significant recent event had even been an attempt to best the Northern Lords, only to be thrown back with such embarrassment that the former Republic had been turned into a Military Government. However, Netilland was hardened by wars against Strossvald and Ellowie. You didn’t recall how or why the embarrassment for them in Sosaldt had happened, but it hadn’t been for lack of power. They didn’t lack for materiel, or men to use them- any war of attrition would be an utter defeat for the strange gathering of allies you shared a front with. The Border Zone hadn’t been representative of Netilland’s true might- their propensity for heavy artillery, their weight of attack, the things that the Archduchy troops respected of one of many regional rivals.

Yet the Archduchy had triumphed over Netilland before. So it would again, even in these small numbers here. Perhaps that might give your Republic allies hope should times turn darker than they could have anticipated.

Roll 2 sets of d6 to see what you can find of Republic Troops. Infantry are squads, vehicles are singular.
>1-Republic Auxiliary Scouts
>2-3-Republic Troopers
>4-Republic Light Armor
>5-Republic Medium Armor
>6- Reroll, and another roll.

Also, in regards to letter writing- Additional written in details are hardly unappreciated.
>Write explicitly, write dirty. Lustful thoughts of Maddalyn were not hard to summon and she’d surely appreciate it.
>Write realistically, truthfully. You were in danger, and it wouldn’t do to hide your circumstances.
>Try your hand at tasteful, if overbearing, affection. You were no poet, but you were writing this to make her feel warm, not you.
>Other?

Finally-
>Face your tank to the south when fortifying it. That was where the present enemy was- the one who was being entrapped, and was most eager to bust out.
>Face your tank to the north. Who could say what was coming, but the enemy to the south only grew weaker, while to the north, was Netilland.

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>4621577
Let's get it!

>>4621582
>Reroll, and another roll
So...2d6?

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>4621577

>Try your hand at tasteful, if overbearing, affection. You were no poet, but you were writing this to make her feel warm, not you.

>Face your tank to the north. Who could say what was coming, but the enemy to the south only grew weaker, while to the north, was Netilland.

If any of our enemies have jamming equipment I frankly doubt it's the Northern Lords.

Rolled 5, 3 = 8 (2d6)

>>4621577
>>4621582
>>4621583
Oh my bad, let me just.
And also
>Try your hand at tasteful, if overbearing, affection. You were no poet, but you were writing this to make her feel warm, not you.
>Face your tank to the north. Who could say what was coming, but the enemy to the south only grew weaker, while to the north, was Netilland.

Rolled 1, 4 = 5 (2d6)

>>4621584
Re-rolling

>>4621577
>Write realistically, truthfully. You were in danger, and it wouldn’t do to hide your circumstances.

>Face your tank to the south when fortifying it. That was where the present enemy was- the one who was being entrapped, and was most eager to bust out.

>>4621587
Do we not just get everything we rolled?

>>4621583
>>4621587
Basically, if you roll a six, you get two dice instead of one. So with two sixes you get four rolls. All of what's in the rolls, not picked.
Rolling two sixes was, suffice it to say, incredibly lucky.

>>4621590
Fucking Radical! The Republic is really showing out for us, huh?
So that means we basically got one of everything available based on our rolls.
Could have been better, but I'm sure we'll be able to make good use of the variety!

>>4621589
>>4621590
Yeah after re-reading it makes sense now. How is everyone else digging in? I assume the current defensive line is basically a circle around the town?

>>4621577
>Try your hand at tasteful, if overbearing, affection. You were no poet, but you were writing this to make her feel warm, not you.

>Face your tank to the north. Who could say what was coming, but the enemy to the south only grew weaker, while to the north, was Netilland.

Republic armour can cover the south for now.

>>4621602
>How is everyone else digging in? I assume the current defensive line is basically a circle around the town?
More or less. Though not in that it's a literal circle so much as a network of strongpoints designed to cover one another. The route from the south and the road have some extension out along them as well because of their nature as supply routes.

>>4621610
Alright one more thing, how do the Scouts work? Are they just worse infantry or do they provide any recon/early warning bonuses?

>>4621613
>how do the Scouts work? Are they just worse infantry or do they provide any recon/early warning bonuses?
If you stick them in a hole and tell them to hold? They're worse. However in a skirmishing and screening capacity they're better, basically.

>>4621584
>>4621585
Supporting these.

>>4621585
This works.

>>4621735
Shit forgot to add:
>Other?
Write in how strange it feels serving again with Richter's countrymen and reaffirm his pledge to defend her like a ye olde knight. I feel like he would fit perfectly as a tacky white knight considering he didn't get a chance to show off his wife to be earlier at the staging point.

>>4621577
>Try your hand at tasteful, if overbearing, affection. You were no poet, but you were writing this to make her feel warm, not you.
>Face your tank to the north. Who could say what was coming, but the enemy to the south only grew weaker, while to the north, was Netilland.

Based six-rolling anons.

The Kommandant is back, baby!

>>4621584
>>4621585
>>4621608
>>4621802
Tastefully north.

>>4621736
A knight in the biggest suit of armor around, though not exactly shining and stuffed with four other men.

>>4621588
Realistically south.

One might think you were more southernly inclined to Maddalyn but assumptions make fools of us all.

Writing.

>>4621884
I suppose it's alright now to say for certain that this quest would have had a massively different trajectory if it was decided to stay in Sosaldt.

>>4621990
Just to confirm short range radio still works right? So we can still communicate with the other defenders in town?

>>4622012
Yes. With interference, but you still can. The long range frequencies are the ones most severely affected.

Your m/32 was pointed northwards when you left it to be dug in- you knew little of radio technology, but you had the feeling that this sudden communications outage wasn’t just bad weather. Plenty of other Silver Lances seemed to feel the same way, from what you overheard here and there.

“I’ve heard the Ellowians have some sort of airplane that lets them tell when and where the Netillian planes are coming. Why our anti air crews are so bored and all. The Netillians sure as hell must know about it, and if they know about it,” a swarthy panzergrenadier said to another as you held a moment to listen, “Then they’d try and do something about it. If something funny’s up, it has to be the rapesons.”

A twitch. Rapesons? Presumably meaning the Netillians. The nation of Netilland was descended directly from an Imperial Protectorate whose administrators declared independence, and a democratic republic, but much of the upper class and thus political class were former Imperial officers anyways, and no small share of the population were Imperial soldiers and settlers.

The twitch wasn’t because of any sympathy for them, though. You’d forgotten whether you’d heard that as a slur or not. It was a reflex. The scandal your father had concocted on his own volition in order to marry your reluctant mother had well made the rounds of court in its own time, and lingered now. More than once at the academy, you’d been accused of being a bastard child born of rape.

Even in this moment far away it was infuriating to recall.

Though, unrelated frustrations aside, the validation of your tactical analysis gave some hope that, whatever was coming, you’d be ready for it. Further hope came when you ran across a particularly hopeless looking mob of Republic troops. Not demoralized, but most certainly confused.

They were a motley collection of Mittelsosalia’s new army, almost an illustrative spread of what constituted it. A squad of ten standard Republic troops, in their chocolate and black uniforms and floppy caps. Eight much more raggedy looking sorts that you remembered being told were Republic Auxiliary Scouts, at some point. They were mercenaries, technically, but the only employer they were allowed to serve was the Republic of Mittelsosalia, if they wished to stay in their business within its borders. Their adherence to uniform was barely present, especially with their leader who was wrapped in a wolf pelt like a barbarian warrior- or perhaps, like an Old Nauk Legion Signifer. Signyfer.

Besides them, there were a pair of tanks, neither of which you remembered the designation of- assuredly foreign designs, then. One was…something you remembered seeing something like in Valsten in your brief time there. A modern variant of some old Reich armor from the Emrean war, maybe, or a copy of such, with a squat hull and a small turret with what appeared to be a large caliber machine gun in it. The other was a graceful looking tank, with smooth edges, like it had been put through a rock tumbler to wear away all its edges. There were welds to be found, but much of the hull and turret were oblong, cast pieces. It seemed far beyond Sosaldt’s capacity to make- and that was because it was, as you saw with the faded stamp of a poppy emblem on the upper front plate- the Emrean emblem. Its cannon appeared as large as the standard m/32’s, if you were to guess, it was probably a four centimeter or so.

All in all, it was far more than you expected to find, and be able to exert your Kommandant influence over, potentially. You had expected a few squads, not a pair of tanks and change.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Maybe a few of the scouts were ladies, possibly, but they’d be scrawny and scruffy ones- probably just boyish men.

“Holy shit, your face is fucked.” The wolf-pelt man said.

“…Thanks.”

“Hey, I don’t mean nothing by it, man, but I’ve never seen nothin’ like…” The wolf man squinted at your face, “Wait a second…fuckin’, Holy Hell, are you the Kommandant?”

“I am.” You said, “Well. Formerly.”

“Formerly nothing. God damn. Sorry that I said that your face was fucked.” The wolf man wasn’t groveling- his tone remained that same conversational air, like you were sitting at a bar instead of at a forward operating base.

“That’s fine.” It was fucked, after all. “I’m a part of the Silver Lances now, but, I wanted to ask you all a favor. I’ll put in a particular word with the Minister of the People, even. I’d like you to accompany me for a short time, maybe for a day or two. I need escort back to my unit, and support in this present place.”

Wolf man brightened immensely, all of a sudden. “Sure.”

“Hey, hold on a moment,” the light tank sprang a person from its turret, “Wolfgang, you’re not the boss of all of us, don’t go agreeing to anything in our names if you’re talking to the Kommandant. Not all of us want to fire off a double helping of baby batter in Cyclops’s arse as much as you.”

“Piss off.” Wolf man said sorely. “If you don’t want to, I ain’t tellin’ you to.”

The light tank commander hauled himself out of his tank and vaulted off it with an acrobatic flip, and slouched on beside the wolf man. “God damn, Kommandant, did you try and go down on brandhuldr?” He immediately read off the silent What? on your face. “Literal fire crotch.”

“Yes.” You said flatly. No question as to how this man knew you. The First Republic Armored Regiment was no small number of people, and you were sure every single one of them had become acquainted with your look then, if not immediately after. Any man trusted with a tank was probably a veteran of such, and the threadbare red scarf around the man’s neck suggested that he was once a member of that gang that called itself the Guillotines, whose members had formed the core of crews of that formation you’d led into battle.

“You have to watch out for girls with tails, you know.”

“Anyways,” you rolled your eyes, “I’d like to ask for all of your help. Would the other tank commander and the infantry squad leader be interested? I’ll note you all down as having done me a personal favor, when I share it with the Minister of the People.”

“So long as I get top score, Kommandant, and direct recommendation for a promotion,” the light tanker said, “Everybody should be happy falling in line. Well, maybe Vive La Revolution won’t be as hot on it, but not like he wasn’t the one looking for an audience anyways. Framboise is a pushover and’ll agree to whatever.”

“You’re certain?” You squinted skeptically at the man, “You were critical of this man for speaking for you just now.”

“Trust me,” the tankman said tiredly, “You don’t need to hear Mr. Revolution. He won’t care what you’re actually doing, he’ll just regale you with how many reasons you’re now comrades in the struggle to topple the world order or whatever.”

“And this…Framboise?” You asked next, because that tank was certainly the most powerful asset of everything assembled, “What about them?”

“She wants to fuck you, Kommanant,” Wolf Man said, “You’ve got fans, see. If you try an’ talk to her she’ll probably die of dehydration in two minutes flat.”

“I’m a married man.” Not technically true but you thought that was more effective dissuasion than being engaged.

“I said she wants to, not that she’s going to,” Wolf Man said in his relaxed way, “Narr’s right, best she keep locked up in there.”

Narr was presumably the skinny tank commander standing with the much larger and brawnier wolf man, who was appropriately named Wolfgang, but you just…kept wanting to call him Wolf Man.

“So will I have to inform your superiors that I’m taking command of you all?” You asked, presuming that with a promise of promotion, everybody else was tided over with the prestige of having direct reference to the leader of the Republic. “You were going somewhere, weren’t you?”

“No,” Wolf Man said, “We banded together after the mess down south, and after it got fixed up by your people coming through. Anybody not in need of fixing their shit was told to assemble up here.”

“Basically, we’re to find somebody to take orders from,” Narr said, “Thanks for volunteering, Kommandant.”

Funny how that worked out. Funnier still was how you were suddenly practically a platoon commander again. Would Captain Verhlors let you keep this band, you wondered. How long would you need them for? You hadn’t expected to need them longer than it took to get back up to your unit. If this night passed without incident that was, which practically nobody around believed it would.

“So then.” Wolfgang scratched his head, and his men blinked blearily at him, then you, “If that’s out of the way, what now?”

>Stick them south and tell them to dig in. That’d be the easier front, you’d bet, and you wanted to keep this bunch for later.
>Get them with your tank. Little point in using them if you weren’t going to start using them right now.
>Send them down the road, with a fair warning for the mines. The panzergrenadier would appreciate it, and you could pick them up there later.
>Other?

Letter writing to come after this.

>>4622129
>Send them down the road, with a fair warning for the mines. The panzergrenadier would appreciate it, and you could pick them up there later.

This is just for the scouts right, they would probably serve best as a screening / patrol / flanking force

>>4622129
>Stick them south and tell them to dig in. That’d be the easier front, you’d bet, and you wanted to keep this bunch for later.

"Remember the battle in the dust storm outside Todesfelsen? It's probably going to end up like that except the pepperheads and their Northern friends have way more firepower than the Death Heads did. So make sure you're dug in deep and get some rest, might be a long night ahead of us."

>>4622129
>>Send them down the road, with a fair warning for the mines. The panzergrenadier would appreciate it, and you could pick them up there later.
We should join them

>>4622129
>>Stick them south and tell them to dig in. That’d be the easier front, you’d bet, and you wanted to keep this bunch for later.
Attracted to Richter and a tank commander? She's a goner.

>>4622137
It's for all of them, unless more specific commands are given.

>>4622129
>>Stick them south and tell them to dig in
>Send the scouts down the road to watch for further infiltrators or enemy troops building up for an attack. If they run into the panzergrenadiers warn them of the suspicious activity and suggest that they might want to fall back to the town for safety.

>>4622129
Supporting >>4622197

>Stick them south and tell them to dig in. That’d be the easier front, you’d bet, and you wanted to keep this bunch for later.

These guys were milling about because they didn't have an officer equivelant leading them, sending them too far off right now would be counterproductive. They can defend the South with minimal oversight, but sending them down the road without us seems silly, since if the situation turns dynamic we won't be able to command them.

>>4622129
>Stick them south and tell them to dig in. That’d be the easier front, you’d bet, and you wanted to keep this bunch for later.
Whole point of them is to make the return journey easier.

>>4622129
Actually, supporting this >>4622197

Remember to warn them about the mines so they don't step on any by accident.

>>4622129
>>4622197
Supporting

>>4622197
This

>>4622197
I'll support this write-in for the scouts as well, though honestly getting the panzergrenadiers to pull back to the town for the night if possible may not be a bad idea, considering they could get cut off pretty easily.

>>4622145
>>4622158
>>4622197
>>4622220
>>4622241
>>4622463
>>4622483
Go south, out of the way. Wolfman goes traveling.

>>4622148
>>4622137
Aid the fellows, they'll need it.

Writing.

Spoiler alert this might take a bit to set up, but I'll have it good to go by tomorrow hopefully.

>>4623214
how's it going?

>>4624423
Apologies, today was a bit messy. It'll be tomorrow for sure. I'll post when I'm getting close.

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>>4624467
>It'll be tomorrow for sure

:^(

>>4625984
>first time?

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>>4625984
It sure seems like a lot of hoopla for quiet night that everyone is being paranoid about for no reason right guys? Right?

Sorry, sleep deprivation catchup has been chopping off hours where I really don't want them to. I've still got some stuff to finish up, but just so I'm not leaving you sitting around for two days straight, I'll cut the update in two. There's a decent break point in it anyways.

>>4626088
Yeah it's actually just going to be a short VN about going on a date with Alina, nothing bad will happen.

If something was happening tonight, it was surely coming from the north with the most force. For that reason though, you thought to put your new charges to the south- where they’d be safe for later. It was what the strategy was here anyways. Republic troops were useful so that the Ellowians could be elsewhere, for the most part. They were by no means elite, and expecting them to do the work of elite troops was folly. That, and it’d be foolish to throw people you’d sought out to help you work your way back to your platoon, into a battle where you could lose them before you’d even taken one step outside the forward operating base.
Dig in, you told them, and dig deep, while the scouts led by the Wolf Man were told to head down the road and inform the panzergrenadier you’d left about what was coming- along with a healthy warning about the location of mines along the way. The tanks were given a channel to communicate with you on, if need be. You’d set out in the morning, after the scouts returned. Ideally. Entertaining the idea that something would happen that would either lock you in here or make your journey far more arduous than you expected did no benefits for your focus, so you didn’t think about that. You could do that after you helped the crew finish digging in the tank, but even then, you’d rather write a letter to your fiancée.

Digging the tank in was hard work to do in a short time with just mattocks and shovels, and as it got dark, you couldn’t get it to what was supposed to be the ideal where the tank could pivot its hull while still being hull down- in order to bring its bow gun to bear. No lanterns were permitted on the defense line, of course, but the tank was at least able to get its more vulnerable lower hull down, with embankments at the flanks defending the side armor while allowing the turret to aim. It wasn’t bad by your measure, but the Silver Lance veteran crews weren’t so easily impressed. They certainly weren’t as elaborate as the nearby infantry’s, or the pair of anti-tank guns in their trenches. The powerful 4.7 cm gun looked so much bigger outside the tank than in, but you knew they were the same. You were merely accustomed to how much space it took up in the tank.

Oh well. With no natural or artificial light to favor you, you clambered into the tank’s lit interior with a borrowed pen and paper with clipboard that you’d surely never return, and set to continuing correspondence with Maddalyn. One sided correspondence but nevertheless. It hadn’t been very long at all, but there was no excuse to not be frequent anyways. Not with no Intelligence Office blocking off your mail. Upon the Commander’s seat, you tried to write something…sweet, maybe overbearing. Something that’d be nice to read, rather than I nearly burned my hands off and I want to impregnate you.

Dearest Maddalyn, you started off, naturally. You’d begin with a pet name but…you hadn’t really settled on one yet. Writing with your left hand was also proving much more difficult than expected. Your calligraphy was mediocre at the best of times, and right now, it looked…bad. It has only been several days now, but I feel as though we are forced apart by-

“Forced?”

“Geh!” you jumped and snatched at the pen after it flew out of your hand, as it tumbled down into the hull. A glare was shot to the side where Hausen was peering at your letter, the door not having even creaked or squeaked a bit when it was opened.

“Nobody’s forced into this unit, you know.” Hausen said flatly, “You just can’t leave while on a tour.”

“It’s not like that, it’s more, duty,” you said as you climbed down and fished around the turret floor, grumbling, “I’d prefer not to have my private letters with my spouse read over my shoulder.”

Hausen shrugged. “Just don’t see people writing letters much around here is all.”

That gave you pause, as you looked back up to Hausen. “No?”

“Nope. At least, not when things are like this. This isn’t a band you stay with if you want to be close to home. It’s not one a lot of people get old in either. Either people decide they want to leave, or they die far away. Just how it is.”

“I will be different, then.”

“Just saying why it’s weird to see.”

“You don’t have anybody to write to?” you asked, forgetting your own letter for a moment.

“Used to. Got divorced some years back.” Hausen assumed you’d ask why. “It was complicated. Too much so. I’ll leave you alone.”

Your new radioman left from the turret- whatever business he had with you suddenly set aside. Spying on you didn’t seem to be his intention, but…

Anyways. I feel as though we are forced apart by my duties, but I only have utmost confidence that I will return to you. As much as it saddens me to leave you behind again, to shirk this duty would be a poor show of a proper knight, and my darling only deserves the ultimate guardian, the best of what I can be. I fight amongst the brave and the fierce, and if I cannot at least be the equal of such men, I could not marry the most lovely woman I know of with anything but guilt in my heart for not being worthy of her. I will be worthy of you, of your love, and if the Judge Above has the sense of right then you will have that.

Was Maddalyn a strict enough believer to accept a little bit of blasphemy? You didn’t know. You…didn’t know rather a few things about her. When she had confided in something that was quite secret, in fact, you had disapproved, warned her of what you saw as flaws in her intentions. She hadn’t liked that at all. Would she be working on that puzzling project now, you wondered. What would you see of it when you returned?

Would Maddalyn prefer you put in as much soft flirting in as possible, you wondered as you tried to recall the smell of her hair, her perfume- which had faded from the scarf- the feeling of her lips, her firm, round butt- no, she wouldn’t like that in the middle of this sort of thing. Damn if that wasn’t stuck in your head now, though.

You wrote it in anyways. It wouldn’t leave your mind until you did. Soft, but firm. High Art in flesh. Sorcery more powerful than any magic she could think of. To say you didn’t want to touch her would be to deny her a part of her beauty, after all.

Besides, it wasn’t like you went into detail about what you wanted to do to it. Jorgen may or may not have been being literal when mocking you about what you didn’t do, but…would she be alright with it, you couldn’t help but wonder. If she was uncomfortable with the idea of trying for children, at least at first, maybe..? It wasn’t weird to think about, was it?

Stop thinking that way about her when you’re trying for this sort of feeling. Well, how were you supposed to think of your wife of all people? Surely nobody else was deserving of overpowering lust?

No, time to close it off before you overthought things. I will return to protect you. Forever yours. Then you utterly destroyed your signature as you tried to replicate it with your off hand. It’d…get better.

The letter was folded and put into your jacket pocket. In the morning, you’d have it sent off, if you could. The Silver Lances did have infrastructure for that- a luxury afforded to the Archduchy’s most elite. All you had to do was fulfill what you promised in that writing. Out and over the top, you put yourself, trying to relax in the cold, winter night, frost sparkling in starlight.

What Hausen said kept on your mind. Either people decide they want to leave, or they die far away. Just how it is. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t known this to some level. What drew you to them besides the familial legacy, the prestige, was that brand of adventure. It was simply that…perhaps that dream hadn’t ever considered you getting married. Not even a little bit. The lone consideration was perhaps marrying a retinue like some Von Trachts had done in the past, so you could live a fantasy together.

…Another seemingly small thing to never tell Maddalyn, Judge Above.

The question remained. Now that you were here…would you stay? The Von Trachts had a valiant history, a tragic history, but one that had never defied fate ever since the first ennobled of your name defeated the seemingly invincible Reich in the field alongside the first Archduke. Were you so special that you’d tempt death? Did you actually have all you wanted, even without the Silver Lances once more being the glory of the house Von Tracht?

>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
>It wasn’t arrogant to think you were special, was it? Look at all you’d done. Look at all that had happened to you, and you were still standing. There was no reason to turn away from this when you were still standing strong.
>Other?

>>4626156
>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.

As it says we can always come back. Until we get a bunch of kids we can serve in the Blumlands forces or whatever the closest regiment is to Richter's home.

>>4626156
>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
We're running out of body parts to lose, and we still haven't married Maddy.

>>4626156
>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.

Maybe go travelling with Maddy for the honeymoon or something.

>>4626156
>>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
At least 12.

This is just Richter's first tour, who says there can't be more. Considering he's the first one to come back in who knows how long, he also has more responsibilities than just the Lances. Although if this is one of the only ways to permanently stay out of the IO...

>>4626156
>>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
I mean on the face of it I like being nearer Maddy because the spooky shenanigans she attracts are some of my favorite parts of this quest. It's not like the Blumlands are lacking in tanks either. Also the more interactions we have with Maddy will help me refine my theory that she is actually a Hermit possessed homunculus clone of her "sister".

>>4626206
Considering how Von Blum doted on Maddy then suddenly stopped, and how Mathilda looks like her twin despite being years younger, and how they both look like their mother, I'm absolutely expecting Maddy to be a failed clone of her mom, and Mathilda a second attempt.

>>4626156
>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
Still feel like we should have thrown this whole thing back in the Major's face and sent Richter off to spend time with his wife, You know, get some quality time in there before the start of the Great War we all know is coming, but better late than never.
Can't deny this experience has been pretty great for him though. Let's hope that lasts.

>>4626156
>>Reaching this point was enough, lowly though it might seem. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. Not yet, at least. Maybe after three or four children. Five?...Six? Not like there was any rule about leaving the Silver Lances and then coming back to them.
It would be nice if Richter could achieve greater military roles in the future, but at this rate he's running out of intact body parts and needs to balance things a little better. Maybe he can get appointed as a high ranking military officer after he's become an important noble through politics.

>>4626163
>>4626171
>>4626173
>>4626187
>>4626206
>>4626266
>>4626460
Funny how losing chunks of yourself puts your life in perspective. Have to work a particular chunk before that gets blown off too.
Here's hoping you keep attached to everything! Writing and things.

>>4626206
>>4626217
What curious theories.

Apologies for the delays- got stuck and had to rest for a bit rather than updating within the hour as planned, but things are in order now.

Recent events had made you feel far less immortal than you might have once felt. Standing back from it all and viewing things how they were, reaching where you were now, lowly as it might seem, was…quite enough. Your life’s role wasn’t to be the blazing beacon any longer. That could wait. Maybe after you’d married Maddalyn and had a few children. Maybe four. Five. Six?...At least twelve. Calm down there, you animal.

It wasn’t as though there were any rules on leaving the Silver Lances and then rejoining. If you felt the need for adventure again, you could indulge in it on your honeymoon holiday, perhaps. For once, to go traveling without being in uniform and under threat of being under fire. Call it a reward if you come back from all of this- it’d be further than many of your relatives got in a while, and hopefully, not dying would set a good example for your planned descendants.

Though. Your even being here was a result of you perhaps not being as free as you thought. You remembered what the Major had said- that at some point, there would be another assignment. You would be serving the Intelligence Office’s schemes once more, for better or worse. The Silver Lances represented a potential escape from all that, and if you left them, you’d be right back in the IO’s hands.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they at least had the courtesy to let you have some quality time with Maddalyn. At least enough to get married, for goodness’ sakes.

The night grew quiet. Oddly so. In this country now a battlefield, a conflict was never out of earshot, yet the gunfire and booms faded away, until there was…no sounds of war at all. Only the whisper of the wind over the wastes.

Welcome, but unsettling silence.
-----
The Netillian Military Government was in a state of utter disarray. The wily High Protector, underestimated by men enchanted by a desire to become the old blood nobility, indulging in the fanciful trend of aspiring to be barons, dukes, kings, had found themselves deceived and outplayed by what they sought to emulate yet also assumed themselves superior over. After all, they had conquered the Republic of Ellowie, did that not mean they conquered those who had been driven out by said Republic?

Evidently not. The supreme leader of the council, army, and by extension all of Netilland, the air forces commander and the General of the Kommissariat had all been captured. As had the Public Welfare general, but his absence was not such a cause for clamoring in the ranks of those who now had to deal with this new war.