Hakan's Saga

         Prelude: The Shots Heard Round the World

- Fortress City Vålsungsgard, Issmark -

The Allufalese Embassy was a beautiful building, it's brilliant white and gold walls and ornate architecture standing proud on its perch overlooking Fortress City Vålsungsgard, capital of the Issmarkish Empire. It was especially pretty now, illuminated with brilliantly colored lights to celebrate the ball that was to be held that night. Cars were lined up for blocks along the winding road leading to the Embassy. Every major Allufalese dignitary and their allies in the city had appeared for this occasion, with the notable exception of diplomats from Issmark itself.

To say Issmark and Allufal were on bad terms was an understatement. As two of the four Great Powers, they had clashed for years in the Sinclairid Sea and throughout the Colonies. Things had come to an abrupt and violent head 32 years ago in Imperial Year 509, when Issmarkish and Allufalese dreadnoughts had encountered each other in contested waters. Historians to this day still debate over who fired the first shot, but the result was the conflict that would come to be known as the War of Blood and Roses. The magical might of the elves of Allufal clashed with the Human and Dwarven industrial powerhouse that was Issmark, a battle which devolved into a deadly stalemate that consumed the eastern half of Issmark for 7 bloody years.

When the old Emperor died in IY516, his son, Prince Henrik von Kurghardt II, was forced to make a choice. Continue fighting a war that was appearing more unwinnable by the day, or sign a peace treaty and risk alienating his subjects before the crown had even settled upon his head. In the end, he chose survival over pride, and the treaty was signed. The Allufalese withdrew, but many in Issmark resented the deal their Emperor had made. The destruction of much of the Empire's farmland in the East had led to famines, and being forced to declare responsibility for the conflict and hand over several of their colonies in the Sinclairid Sea only added insult to injury. Despite the anger, the new Emperor had managed to keep the peace between the two nations for the last 25 years.

That was all about to change.

++

Inside the Embassy’s great ballroom, hundreds of diplomats and their guests danced to the melody of a small orchestra. Gowns and cloaks whirled and billowed across the floor, while those not dancing clustered around the edges of the room, sipping wine and talking. The room was a work of art, true to the pompous style of the Allufalese Hegemony. Great white arches covered in ornate gold embellishments reached up to the ceiling, which was covered in gorgeous paintings depicting the Hegemony's triumphs. It was packed to the brim as well, with barely enough room to move outside of the dancefloor. As the current composition ended and some dancers and onlookers swapped positions, the music changed, swelling with the sound of horns and drums. A bomb could have gone off and nobody in the room would have heard.

Outside the building, two elves stood guard on either side of the main gate. Both looked exceptionally bored, but knew better than to pace or lean against the gatehouse. They would have liked nothing better than to be inside where all the fun was, as most of their fellow guards had been permitted to that night, but at least a minimal guard was required at the gate. Glancing about furtively, one of them reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew a cigarette tin. As he was lighting a smoke, his compatriot suddenly heard a noise in the bushes across the road. The other elf cocked his ear and listened closely, only to hear the noise again.

Raising his rifle to low ready, he approached the bush while the first one was still struggling with his lighter. He peered through the foliage, then decided it was probably just an animal and turned around. As he turned there was another rustle in the bushes, but before he could pivot to face it, something came down over his head and a cold steel wire wrapped around his neck. He tried to cry out, but could only sputter as the garotte tightened.

His compatriot had seen this and dropped his cigarette, but before he could unsling his rifle or cry out, another figure burst out of the bushes and shot him in the neck with a compressed air dart gun. The elf’s face twisted as the poison took effect, paralyzing him before he could cry out. Both assailants were human, dressed all in black with knitted masks pulled down over their faces and no visible flags or insignia on their matte black military sweatshirts and trousers. There were submachineguns hanging across their backs, painted dull black so as not to gleam in the low evening light. The elven guard’s vision faded as his air supply dwindled, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

One of the humans released the garotte, tucking it into a pouch on his belt and bending down to slit the guard’s throat with a small dagger before straightening up and drawing a large dart pistol of his own. Five more emerged from the bushes, dart pistols at the ready, and began cutting through the lock on the gate with a hacksaw as four armored trucks rolled to a stop in front of the Embassy, disgorging another 28 men. These men did wear uniforms; long grey trenchcoats with dull red trim and wide-brimmed grey helmets. Their helmets and the dull red brassards on their left arms bore the insignia of Imperial Viceroy Vengaren’s Industriella Kollektiva Republikaner Party, commonly known as IKRI. They were the Särskilda Politiska Kåren or SPK, Vengaren’s private army.

The commandos pushed through the gate, one of them knocking on the window of the gatehouse to distract the guard minding the telephone there while another kicked in the door and shot him with the dart gun. The uniformed troops held back, waiting for the commandos to silence the rest of the on-duty security team. As one returned to the gate to inform the SPK troops of the all clear, a massive sedan rumbled to a stop beside the armored trucks, and a figure stepped out of the back seat.

At nearly 2 meters tall, Viceroy Nikklas Vengaren cut quite the intimidating figure, his black greatcoat billowing around him as his mouth split into a perverse grin and the golden frames of his eyeglasses gleamed beneath the brim of his peaked cap. He gestured to his troops, who stormed through the gates and made for the front door of the building, one squad hanging back to surround the Viceroy as he casually walked up the Embassy mall, glancing indifferently at the crumpled bodies of the guards. They mounted the steps, and two of the SPK troopers kicked in the great mahogany doors.

The official behind the main desk stood up abruptly at the sight of the armed Humans, and quickly strode towards them, crossing his arms and blocking their path as two guards emerged and flanked him.

“What are you doing here, Mister Vengaren? I do not think you were invited. And your thugs most certainly weren’t. This Embassy is the sovereign soil of Alufall, you have no right to be here, and if you do not leave I will be forced to summon the rest of the guard detail and have them remove you physically.” The elf scowled, clearly unintimidated.

“Go ahead. Call the guards.” Vengaren smirked. “I don’t give a damn.”

The elven official nodded to one of his guards, who walked over and picked up a telephone attached to the wall.

“Sir? I’m not getting any response…” He said slowly, lowering the phone.

“We cut the phone lines.” The Viceroy said, nonchalantly. “You can call all day, but nobody’s coming for you.”


“You know what this means!” The official barked. “This means war!”

“Good. That’s exactly what I came here for.” Vengaren grinned like a shark, and before any of the elves could react, his sidesword sprung from its scabbard and sliced the official’s neck open.

As the stricken elf stumbled backward, clutching his throat and spitting blood, two of the SPK troopers flanking Vengaren raised their rifles and bayoneted the remaining guards as they struggled to draw their sidearms.

“Sweep the premises. Eliminate any remaining guards and staff, and barricade all the ballroom doors!” Vengaren ordered, kicking the official over and burying the point of his sword in the elf’s chest.

The SPK troopers stormed through the facility, making quick work of anyone they encountered with their bayonets, while others dragged furniture to block all four entrances to the ballroom. This accomplished, they thundered up the stairs to the 2nd floor balcony that ran around the circumference of the ballroom. The bipods of Mikkelsson automatic rifles and the barricade stop lugs of submachineguns dug into the wooden railing as the SPK men surrounded the crowd from above. The dancers twirled and swayed as the music soared, oblivious to their impending doom. But they would not be oblivious for long. The Issmarkish Viceroy strode out onto the balcony, flanked by his personal guards. He surveyed the scene below, stone-faced, then slowly raised one hand and snapped his fingers.

All at once, the weapons erupted into fire, the staccato crackle of SMGs and the slow thunk-thunk-thunk of automatic rifles drowning out the sound of the orchestra. Shell casings poured down like hailstones as the crowd screamed and ran for the exits while bodies fell around them left and right. They piled against the doors, trampling people underfoot and shoving past them only to discover that the exits were all blocked. A few had the resourcefulness to flip over tables and cower behind them, but while this offered some respite from the submachinegun fire, the heavy 6.5x55mm rounds of the Mikkelsson guns shredded anything in their path. Others raised their hands and recited the incantations for magic missiles, only to stare in horror as nothing appeared at their fingertips but empty air before they too were cut down. Vengaren smiled at the sight of his enemy’s magic failing, his face eerily lit by the flashes of gunfire. Their secret weapon was working perfectly. Now all that remained was the second test, which was about to begin.

++

- AHS Maedar, Sinclairid Sea, Allufalese Territorial Waters -

The white prow of the AHS Maedar sliced through the ocean, the mighty Allufalese battleship riding gracefully over the waves at the front of her destroyer and cruiser escort. It was a cloudy day, and there was a ominous feeling in the air as the 3rd Territorial Defense Fleet conducted its standard patrol. The Captain stood at his post on the bridge, arms crossed, as one of his officers scanned the horizon with a spyglass. They had been at sea for five months now, and many of the crew were itching to return to port.

“Shall we perform another sweep, Sir-Captain?” His observation officer suggested.

“Hrm, might as well. Do it.” The Captain replied, rubbing his chin pensively.

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain. Scrying chief, perform a detection sweep, standard pattern!” The observation officer ordered.

The scrying chief passed the order along to one of his subordinates, who placed his hands on one of the artificer crystals on his control station and concentrated. After a few seconds, his head cocked in puzzlement. He lifted his hands, then placed them back on the crystal and repeated the procedure. He turned to the scrying chief and said something to him, which was then repeated to the observation officer.

“Uh, Sir-Captain? Scrying reports a number of contacts, bearing 273 degrees, Northeast.” The observation officer said incredulously.

“What?” The Captain asked, straightening up. “How many contacts? What class?”

“Twelve within our detection range, Sir-Captain. Two are battleship-sized objects, nine appear to be either cruisers or destroyers, and one very large contact, could be a carrier.” The observation officer reported.

“Only two other nations have operational carriers. Albion and Issmark. How long until they’re within identification range?”

“Based on current speed and bering, I estimate five minutes Sir-Captain.”

“Navigation, are they in danger of crossing into our waters?”

“If they do not alter course, they will cross the border in three minutes, Sir-Captain.”

“Hail them, all main frequencies.”

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain.” The comns officer acknowledged, picking up the radio. “Attention, Unknown Fleet. This is the AHS Maedar. Identify yourselves! Repeat, this is the AHS Maedar, you are in danger of violating Allufalese waters, identify yourselves immediately!”

The bridge crew waited tensely, but there was no response.

“They’re entering identification range, Sir-Captain. Give me a second to confirm… It’s Issmark, Sir-Captain.” The observation officer swallowed.

“What? Surely they don’t have the gall! Our effective weapons range exceeds theirs significantly, to challenge us on the open sea like this is sheer lunacy!” The Captain scowled. “Hail them again!”

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain. Attention, Issmarkish Fleet, this is the AHS Maedar. You have violated our sovereign territory, respond or turn back now, or we will open fire!”

They waited, but there was no response.

“Your orders, Sir-Captain?” The weapons officer asked.

“Sound General Quarters. Then hail them again. If they do not respond, fire a warning shot. One gun only.”

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain.” The comns officer repeated the hail. “Still no response Sir-Captain. The rest of our fleet is awaiting orders.”

“Sir-Captain? They are increasing their speed.” The observation officer reported.

“Should we fire the warning shot, Sir-Captain?” The weapons officer asked.

“Do it.”

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain, firing warning shot, main battery three, gun two. Brace for firing… Fire, fire, fire!”

The ship rocked as one of the massive guns expelled a blast of smoke and fire. The 380mm projectile soared over the ocean, and landed harmlessly several hundred meters in front of the oncoming Issmarkish fleet.

“Enemy shows no signs of altering their course, Sir-Captain.”

“One final hail.” The Captain bit his lip.

He was not concerned about winning the engagement, of that he was quite certain. But the outcome of this decision he now faced would decide the fate of millions.

“Issmarkish Fleet, Issmarkish Fleet. This is the battleship AHS Maedar. This is your final warning! Reverse course immediately or we will fire for effect! You have 60 seconds to comply!”

++

- ISS Stormfalk, Sinclairid Sea, Allufalese Territorial Waters -

“They’re hailing us again, herr Admiral. Same message as before.”

“Maintain present course. No need to respond.” Admiral Riner von Hornberg snorted, resting his palms on the command console of the ISS Stormfalk.

“Should we activate the Torvald-Griggs Device, herr Admiral?” The Stormfalk’s weapons officer enquired.

“No. No need to give away our trump card just yet. Wait until they fire.” Von Hornberg ordered, expelling a cloud of pipe smoke from his nostrils. “But begin charging it. I want the field ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.”

“Aye-aye herr Admiral.”

++

- AHS Maedar -

“No change in enemy course, Sir-Captain.” The observation officer reported grimly.

“Your orders Sir-Captain?” The weapons officer looked to him expectantly.

“Target the lead ship. Fire main battery two, one salvo.” The Captain pronounced.

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain. Firing main battery two, Target Number 1, one salvo! Brace for firing! Fire, fire, fire!” The weapons officer ordered.

Once again, the ship shook as the 380mm guns unleashed their fury on the oncoming fleet. The shells were artificed weapons, guided remotely by a crew of mages stationed in each battery. This was what gave Allufalese ships their exceptional effective firing range.

++

- ISS Stormfalk -

“Enemy ship has fired one of her main batteries, herr Admiral.”

“And so it begins. Weapons, activate the Torvald-Griggs Device!” Admiral von Hornberg ordered with a grin.

“Aye-aye herr Admiral. Activating the Torvald-Griggs Device!”

There was an unearthly hum, and everyone on the bridge felt their hair crackle and stand on end with static as the Torvald-Griggs Field came online.

“Let’s see how smug they are without their beloved artificer shells.” Von Hornberg chuckled.

++

- AHS Maedar -

“Observation, report effect on target!” The elven Captain ordered.

“Uhm… Sir-Captain…”

“What?!”

“No effect on target, Sir-Captain. All shells missed, Sir-Captain.”

“WHAT?! IMPOSSIBLE! Weapons, what’s going on!?”

“Guidance mages report they lost control of the projectiles within 1km of the enemy fleet, Sir-Captain.” The weapons officer said, incredulously.

“Scrying reports they are unable to detect the enemy fleet, Sir-Captain! We can see them within visual range but they aren’t showing on our sweeps!”

“Damnit, what is this new sorcery?! ALL SHIPS, OPEN FIRE!” The Captain ordered, face contorted with rage.

“Aye-aye Sir-Captain! Relaying the order!” The comns officer reported.

“Sir-Captain? The enemy is bringing their guns about, they’re preparing to return fire.” Observation reported.

“How? They aren’t within their effective range yet!”

“Should we prepare damage-control teams, Sir-Captain?”

“No. There is no way an Issmarkish ship can engage at that range, they don’t have artificial guidance!”

++

- ISS Stormfalk -

“All radar-guided plotting table crews report a positive firing solution, herr Admiral. Ready to fire.” The Stormfalk’s comns officer reported. “ISS Valhalla reports they are prepared to sortie fighters and torpedo bombers at any time.”

“All enemy ships have opened fire, herr Admiral.” Her observation officer added.

“Order all ships to fire for effect. Tell the Valhalla to hold back their aircraft until our destroyers are in position and the enemy is within the envelope of their Torvald-Griggs Field. No need to risk our planes unnecessarily.” Admiral von Hornberg ordered nonchalantly. “And muster damage control teams, just in case.”

“Aye-aye herr Admiral”

“Aye-aye herr Admiral”

The Issmarkish fleet let slip their guns, launching an enormous barrage of gunfire as the enemy shells landed harmlessly around them. The same could not be said for the Issmarkish shells. Shell after shell found their mark, crippling two Allufalese cruisers and causing severe damage to several more in the first salvo.

“Fire again when ready.” Von Hornberg ordered, crossing his arms triumphantly.

++

- AHS Maedar -

“DAMAGE REPORT!” The Maedar’s Captain bellowed, hauling himself back to his feet after being knocked over by a shell striking their starboard flank.

“AHS Thravia, AHS Veneria and AHS Sigmar’s Song are all dead in the water Sir-Captain! Severe damage to several others! Main battery 3 is non-functional, and we’re taking on water in compartments 12 and 8!” The damage control officer reported, clinging to a guardrail.

“Another enemy salvo is inbound, Sir-Captain!”

“Enemy fleet is rapidly approaching, Sir-Captain! Their forward destroyer escort will be within 1km of us in less than a minute!”

“Other ships are requesting orders, Sir-Captain!”

“With all due respect, Sir-Captain, I recommend we withdraw.” His executive officer said, wiping a trickle of blood from his brow where it had struck the console. “The enemy clearly has some new weapon we’re unprepared for. We need to warn Grand Fleet Command and the mainland!”

Before he could finish, another Issmarkish salvo landed, shaking the Maedar from stem to stern.

“We have a fire in the engine compartment, Sir-Captain! Helm is unresponsive!”

“Enemy aircraft are sortieing, Sir-Captain! Contact in under five minutes!”

“YOUR ORDERS, SIR?!”

“DAMNIT, DAMNIT, DAMNIT!” The Captain bellowed, pounding his fist on his console. “ORDER ALL SHIPS WITH FUNCTIONAL PROPULSION TO WITHDRAW! ORDER THE AHS INDIVISIBLE TO PULL ALONGSIDE AND TAKE ON OUR CREW! PREPARE TO ABANDON SHIP!”

“I’m unable to raise the other ships Sir-Captain! Our communications aren’t working! I cannot contact the mainland either!”

“Contact with enemy fighters iminent, Sir-Captain! Our air defense mages report they are unable to use magic! We cannot target their aircraft!”

“All batteries are offline, Sir-Captain! Magical Igniters are not functioning, we cannot fire!”

“Then communicate with flags!  Engage the aircraft with rifles! Throw rocks at them! I don’t care, just do something!” The Captain was becoming increasingly unhinged.

A spattering of bullets crashed through the windows of the bridge, shredding half a dozen officers as an Issmarkish fighter came in for a strafing run.

“AHS Indivisible has been struck by two enemy torpedoes, she’s sinking Sir-Captain!” The obsevation officer reported, clutching his arm where a bullet had grazed him. “Four more ships are dead in the water! Enemy torpedo bombers are coming in for another pass!”

The Captain swallowed, then slowly rose to his full height.

“Raise the white flag. Surrender.” He said solemnly. “We’re finished.”

++

- ISS Stormfalk -

“The enemy flagship has raised the white flag, herr Admiral. Congratulations!” Von Hornberg’s observation officer reported with a triumphant grin.

“Should I order the fleet to cease fire, herr Admiral?” His comns officer enquired.

“Naturally.” The Issmarkish Admiral said, smugly. “No need to waste ammunition.”

“Should we prepare boarding parties, herr Admiral?” The Naval Infantry commander enquired.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Colonel.” Von Hornberg said. “Helm.”

“Aye herr Admiral?”

“All engines ahead full. Ramming speed.”

***

    Chapter 1: The Fall of Allufal

- Southwestern Allufal -

The steady chug of the Mikkelsson guns erupted sporadically across the rocky valley as Company K advanced, joining the chorus of rifle cracks and submachinegun chatter. They had been pushing through these hills since daybreak, their progress much impeded by the difficulty of moving their Tb/40 armored trucks through the rough volcanic terrain. The enemy had been less of a concern. Battered and demoralized from their defeats at the coast, they had retreated to the hills in the hopes of stalling the Issmarkish advance. They would become much more of a problem once they really got into the mountains proper, where the heavy artillery of the 338th Motorized Rifles could not longer follow them. Air support would become more limited as well, as the carrier-based fighter-bombers were pushing the limits of their range, and major airbases had yet to be established inland. These and many other concerns occupied the mind of Captain Håkan von Regenhardt, commander of Company K. He was crouched behind a large boulder with his radioman and support officer, observing his 1st and 2nd Platoons as they maneuvered towards an enemy observation post that was harassing the Company with machinegun fire.

“Kili, contact Lt. von Ljungeston. I want to know the exact position of that machinegun nest.”

Håkan instructed his radioman, peering unsuccessfully through the dense vegetation with his binoculars.

“Ja herr Kapten.” The private replied, reaching for the handset on his radio.

“von Morrholm, are Lt. Bengt’s mortars ready to fire?” Håkan turned to his support officer.

“No herr Kapten, I will instruct them to make it so. Kili can relay the coordinates from Gunnar’s platoon to Bengt.” Morrholm replied, scanning the terrain for a good place to position the mortar platoon.

“Good man.” Håkan nodded in affirmation, then turned back to his binoculars. “2nd Platoon’s fire is slacking, I need them to pick it up and hold the enemy in place until the mortar rounds come in. Radio please, when you’re finished.”

Kili handed him the handset.

“Kjellman, this is Captain von Regenhardt. Why is your third Mikkelsson not firing?”

“Running low on ammunition, herr Kapten. I instructed them to hold fire until necessary or we are resupplied.”

“Understood. I will instruct Sgt. Magnusson to give Trooper Sorensson a stern talking to on the merits of conserving ammunition. I will also send Cpl. Beringfal with additional magazines.” Håkan instructed. “Franz! Get some Mikkelsson magazines from one of the Tb/40s and run them to 2nd Platoon!”

“Lt. Bengt’s mortars are ready, herr Kapten.” Kili reported.

“And von Ljungeston?” Håkan inquired.

“Still waiting, herr Kapten. The machinegun is shielded from 2nd Platoon’s fire so they’re having some difficulty getting close enough.”

“This damn jungle is starting to get on my nerves. No visibility means no effective command. Einar! Wasn’t Regimental Supply supposed to send us flamethrowers?” Håkan yelled over to his supply sergeant.

“Ja, herr Kapten, but they aren’t expected to arrive for another week. We’ll have to make do with incendiaries from the Valkyries.” Sgt. Einar Bergesson replied.

“Which are doubtless engaged elsewhere, as usual.” Håkan grumbled.

“Our attached tank company is supposed to be receiving a number of Draaken flame tanks as well.” Einar offered, shrugging. “So far the invasion has been remarkably successful, I wouldn’t begrudge Command a few supply hiccups.”

“We took them by surprise. They did not expect the Torvald-Griggs Device. They did not expect their Navy to crumble as fast as it did. They will regroup, alter their tactics to focus on conventional weapons, and then I believe you will find the resistance is much stiffer. These elves have lived in this jungle for centuries, they know it like we know the tundra and mountains of Stengarberg. And while the Torvald-Griggs Device can rob them of their magic, it cannot suppress their keen eyesight and natural marksmanship. I want to seize as much ground as possible before that happens, while they are still in shock and disarray. We cannot afford to grow complacent or underestimate the enemy.”  Håkan mused.

“You worry too much, my Kapten. The knife-ears have grown soft from years of cowering behind their barriers and coastal defense temples. They are no match for Men of Issmark in a real stand-up fight.” Einar chuckled, as Beringfal scurried past them with a stack of 6.5x55mm Mikkelsson magazines in one hand, and his submachinegun in the other.

“I pray to Drothane you are correct, Sergeant. But only a fool relies on the incompetence of his enemy to do his job for him.” Håkan scowled.

“Be honest, my Kapten. You are just spoiling for a good fight.” Einar gave him a knowing smirk.

“Maybe so. These years of chasing abominable snowmen and other monstrosities around the borders of Stengarberg have been rewarding, but the young Lieutenant in me does miss the taste of war.” Håkan gave a slight smile.

“Ah yes, your years in Del A’ccua. You must be used to this heat then.” Einer wiped a pool of sweat from his brow.

“Alas, Sergeant, the heat of the Del A’ccuan desert is a dry one. I am just as miserable as you in this humid stew.” Håkan grimaced, and adjusted his cap.

Behind them, the unmistakable “bloop” of a mortar rang out, followed by whistling and an explosion in the valley below. A few seconds passed, then a series of bloops and explosions followed, sending trees toppling over on the left flank of 1st Platoon.

“Kili, radio. Lt. von Ljungeston, status report, please.” Håkan ordered, reaching for the radio and scanning the blast site with his binoculars.

“Enemy machinegun is no longer firing, my Kapten. We’re taking some sporadic rifle fire from the position, but those shells seem to have taken the wind out of their sails.” von Ljungeston crackled over the radio.

“Javligt good, Lieutenant. Now press the advantage, have your men advance under cover from 2nd and 3rd Platoons.” Håkan grinned, scribbling something on his map between glances through the binoculars. “Kili, instruct Kjellman and von Tormsval to provide support for von Ljungeston’s men, then we shall move forward and observe this more closely.”

Håkan rose from his crouching position, tucking the map back into his mapcase and readying his submachinegun. The older KsP/39 was heavier and more complex than the new KsP/41s that were supposed to replace them, but Håkan like many men of the RiksVakt favored the closed-bolt ’39 for its accuracy and lack of recoil.

They moved carefully up the column until they reached a tangle of ancient trees just behind the main body of 1st Platoon. Two of von Ljungeston’s rifle troops were advancing up the slope towards the enemy position, with the third troop and machinegun troop holding back to cover them. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the underbrush to their left, and a squad of enemy soldiers broke cover and charged 1st Platoon’s rear element. von Ljungeston’s third troop responded, bringing several of them down with rifle fire, but a couple of the enemy reached their position before the Mikkelsson automatic rifle could be brought to bear.

One of the Issmarkish guardsmen was able to deflect the bayonet thrust with his own rifle and smashed the elf across the face with the butt of it, but another was not so lucky. The first stab landed in his arm, causing him to fumble his rifle and trip. As the elf’s bayonet was about to bury itself in the unfortunate guardsman’s throat, a crackle of gunfire rang out and the enemy toppled over, perforated by Håkan’s submachinegun.

“Keep on your toes, men! The enemy is trying to throw us off balance and break up our assault! Do not let them!” Håkan yelled, lowering the smoking barrel of his weapon and grabbing the radio handset from Kili. “von Tormsval! Have your men advance along the left flank, and watch out for bayonet charges. Whatever’s at the end of this valley, the enemy is getting desperate to stop us from reaching it!”

Seizing the advantage of the confusion caused by this attack, the enemy had stepped up their fire from other positions, and Håkan could see movement further up the valley that indicated reinforcements. But his men had not been rattled, and they swiftly returned fire with automatic rifles while the riflemen pressed their advance.

“Where’s von Morrholm?” Håkan asked.

“Right here, my Kapten.”

“I am tired of peering through these trees. Get me some Valkyrie support, on the double!”

“Ja herr Kapten. I’ll see what I can do herr Kapten.”

Within about 20 minutes, they could hear the low drone of the dive-bombers approaching. So could the enemy, as evidenced by the anti-aircraft machinegun fire rippling through the canopy. But the 7mm rounds were no match for the heavily armored bellies of the JB/18 “Valkyrie” close-support aircraft, which hurtled overhead unperturbed, sending their deadly payloads tumbling to the valley floor.

In a flash, the entire valley was lit with billowing flames. The incendiary bombs had been developed for defoliating jungles and forests, but they were just as effective on the enemy infantry. Screams of pain mixed with the roaring of the fires as the valley was consumed by napalm. Håkan watched grimly, wincing slightly from the heat, until the firestorm faded, leaving only sporadic patches of burning jungle. The enemy positions which had not been incinerated were now exposed, and began to pull back, but not before they were lit up by the machineguns and mortars of Company K’s weapons platoon.

“NOW! The enemy is retreating! All units, fix bayonets and advance! Do not let them dig back in, or we will never get them out!” Håkan roared, firing a burst from his own weapon. “MEN OF ISSMARK! HACKA PÅ!”

The cry of “HACKA PÅ!” rang out across the Issmarkish lines as the command to charge was repeated down the chain of command, and a tide of screaming northmen surged forward, bayonets gleaming in the dying light of late afternoon. The somewhat orderly retreat of the enemy survivors quickly broke into a general rout, fleeing across the scarred and smoldering terrain only to be cut down by rifles or bayonets. In a matter of minutes, Håkan’s men had taken most of the valley.

“Kili! Get battalion on the horn and inform them that we have captured Valley 15 and are awaiting further orders.” Håkan instructed, observing as the wounded were rounded up and led back from the lines by medics.

“Ja herr Kapten.” The Trooper replied, raising the handset to his ear. “Battalion congratulates you on your victory, sir, and instructs you to hold position. Nightfall is coming and they’re still waiting for the rest of the 338th to catch up with us.”

“Hrm. I would have preferred to continue the advance while we still have the advantage, but it is unwise to outpace our brothers. This location seems fairly defensible. Sergeant Magnusson! Bring the rest of the company up to this position and begin fortifying a camp. Kili, get ahold of Lt. von Tormsval. I want his men to set up observation posts just forward of our lines. Tell Bengt to send his medium and heavy machineguns to reinforce them.” Håkan ordered, fishing his pipe out of his jacket and lighting a match. “Make no mistake, they will not allow us to spend the night in peace.”

++

The enemy attacked three times that night. Each time they were repelled, thanks to the skillful placement of Lt. Bengt’s heavy machineguns and well-coordinated use of illumination shells by his mortar teams. Håkan made a mental note to recommend him for promotion the next time one came up. Still, they lost four men to the night attacks with three of them dead by daylight, and the fourth severely wounded but stable.

By morning, the enemy appeared to have withdrawn, and Company K was able to proceed out of the valley with little incident. Once they had cleared the rocky areas, it was easier for the armored trucks to maneuver, and Håkan ordered his men to mount up. The terrain was still wooded, but much more open now, and the threat of snipers made the protection afforded by the Tb/40s all the more valuable.

Battalion had given him new orders at dawn; Company K was to drive forward into the larger valley basin below, where elements of the Imperial Army were mounting an assault on the small city of Silvale. Along with other elements of the 338th Motorized Rifles, they would attack the city from behind, targeting enemy artillery emplacements that were wreaking havoc on the Army units. A motorcycle messenger from Battalion Command had brought Håkan new maps, and outlined the specific artillery battery Company K would be targeting. It was positioned just behind the crest of a hill they had designated Hill 36 to the North of the city, behind a temple.

As they reached the edge of the treeline, Håkan picked up the radio in his command truck.

“All units, this is Captain von Regenhardt. Dismount and prepare to proceed on foot. We’ll leave the vehicles here, the enemy may have anti-tank guns in the hills to our front. I want Lt. Bengt to position his mortar teams here as well, but attach the heavy machinegun teams to the platoons, we’ll need their covering fire for the drive up Hill 36.”

His lieutenants acknowledged, and the men of Company K exited their vehicles, forming up and hunkering down in a large ditch at the edge of the treeline. Håkan decided to position himself within 2nd Platoon, bringing Kili and von Morrholm with him.

“All units, advance! Assume wedge formation and keep low. Hold fire until my command, no need to reveal our presence and open ourselves to fire from the enemy artillery.” Håkan ordered, readying his submachinegun.

They moved up slowly, crawling low through the tall grass until they reached the remains of a crumbling stone wall that ran along a dirt road curling around the target hill. As Håkan was about to order his troops to mount the wall, the designated marksman from 2nd Platoon’s Troop B raised his hand. Håkan repeated the gesture, and the rest of the company hunkered down as it was passed along.

“What do you see, Trooper Haraldsson?” He asked, moving up to where the marksman was peering over the wall through his scope.

“See the temple tower, herr Kapten? I saw a scope glint up there a second ago.” Haraldsson responded.

“Can you see the sniper?” Håkan asked.

“I caught a glimpse of him, but he’s good. It was sheer luck I saw his scope. He’s hiding behind the tower wall and only coming up for a second or so at a time.”

“Can you take him out?”

“No herr Kapten. He’s not exposing himself for long enough and the tower looks too solid for my rifle to shoot through.”

Håkan nodded, then gestured for Kili to give him the radio.

“Heavy machinegun teams, spread out and set up your emplacements here. Marksmen as well. I want overlapping fields of fire across the slope of that hill. Mortars! Give me area of effect along the crest of the hill and hold fire until we charge. All other units, hold position and prepare to charge on my order.”

“What about the sniper herr Kapten?” Haraldsson enquired. “Do you have a plan?”

“I do.” Håkan grinned. “Franz! Get the Anti-Dragon Rifle!”

Cpl. Beringfal scurried up to them, carrying the heavy DvG-25 Anti-Dragon Rifle he had retrieved from Weapons Platoon. A 30mm recoiless rifle, the DvG-25 had initially been designed for taking down dragons, giants and other large and dangerous enemies, but had been pressed into service as an anti-tank/anti-material weapon.

“Trooper Haraldsson, do you think you can get him with this?” Håkan asked with a smirk.

“Ja herr Kapten. Absolutely herr Kapten.” Haraldsson grinned back, setting down his rifle and taking the recoiless gun from Beringfal.

Haraldsson unfolded the weapon’s bipod and set it up, with Beringfal moving behind him to shove a massive 30mm shell into the breach. The marksman peered through the scope for a few seconds, then nodded to Beringfal.

“BACKBLAST CLEAR!” Beringfal yelled.

The DvG-25 let out a massive bark, expelling gouts of flame from both ends. The tower wall facing them exploded, and they saw the body of the sniper tumble out, nearly blown in half by the armor-piercing explosive shell.

“HACKA PÅ!” Håkan bellowed, gesturing forward with a knife hand.

The Imperial Guard troopers spilled over the wall and charged up the hill. As they did, mortar shells arched overhead and lit up the crest of the hill, causing chaos in the enemy position. The enemy reacted quickly, their infantry shifting position to engage the oncoming assault as gunners abandoned their artillery pieces and scrambled for their carbines. But Håkan’s heavy machinegun teams were prepared for this, and pinned them down with suppressing fire as his riflemen drove hard towards their position.

Håkan’s men engaged the enemy with rifles as they neared the hilltop, taking a few casualties but overwhelming the enemy with their superior firepower. Håkan moved up with them, firing a few bursts from his submachinegun at any enemy units he saw. They stacked up behind the side of the temple and its outlying buildings, forcing the enemy to retreat to the sandbag walls around their artillery emplacements and pinning them there with suppressing fire from the automatic riflemen.

Now better able to see the enemy’s position, Håkan called in more precise fire from Bengt’s mortars, then ordered his troops to charge the gun emplacements in the ensuing confusion. They were within hand-to-hand range now, and Håkan slung his submachinegun and drew his sabre and pistol. He shot two artillerymen who were leveling their carbines, the heavy .355 Magnus slugs punching through their chests like paper mache, then jumped into an artillery pit alongside three of his riflemen and cut another open with the heavy sabre. Most modern officers held back, and prefered to wear more ornamental sideswords, but Håkan was a throwback to an older age, and prefered to lead from the front with a true fighting man’s blade. The Pattern 488 Dragoon Officer’s Sabre was an antique that had belonged to his grandfather, and had seen action throughout the Colonies.

Seeing that this fight was lost, the remaining enemies cut and ran, abandoning their artillery and retreating down the other side of the hill. Unfortunately, Battalion command had thought of this, and the elves found themselves running straight into the fire of Company J’s automatic rifles as the Guardsmen emerged from the treeline on the other side.

“Secure the area!” Håkan barked, wiping the blood from his sabre and returning it to his scabbard. “Scuttle the guns and sweep the buildings! Kili, radio!”

His radioman scurried up and handed him the handset.

“Lt. Bengt, all vehicles, move up to my position. We’ll establish our company HQ on this hill.” He handed the handset back, and addressed his lieutenants. “We’ll regroup here, deal with the wounded and prepare to move down towards the city. Set up the heavy machineguns in defensive positions, I’m going up in the temple tower to get eyes on the situation.”

Accompanied by Kili and von Morrholm, Håkan entered the building. Riflemen from 1st Platoon had already secured it, capturing a couple of enemy officers who had been taking shelter there. He instructed Lt. von Ljungeston to secure the prisoners and contact Battalion to organize an MP unit to pick them up, then scaled the tower with his radioman and fire support officer. The belfry was a mess, coated with blood and shattered stone from the anti-dragon rifle blast, but the wall facing the city was mostly intact. Håkan pulled out his binoculars and scanned the terrain.

He could see the whole battlefield now, from the columns of smoke rising from the city where the Army’s artillery had been pounding it, to the flashes of small arms fire from the Army units that were advancing towards it and the tanks accompanying them. Allufal had never taken tanks very seriously, and what remained of their outdated armor had been reduced to smoldering ruins. The Army units hadn’t fared perfectly, however. Unlike the Imperial Guard, who were professional soldiers with the best equipment and training Issmark could offer, the Imperial Army was composed of conscripts and they had taken heavy casualties. Hopefully Håkan and his fellow Guardsmen would be able to take some of pressure off them. Håkan gestured for the radio.

“Battalion Command, this is Captain von Regenhardt of Company K. I have secured Hill 36 and am regrouping my forces. I have eyes on the city. How should we proceed?”

“Captain von Regenhardt, this is Överstelöjtnant von Vanderberg. Good work silencing that artillery position, our compatriots in the Army will be very grateful. All 3rd Battalion elements will be driving forward into the city once the final battery is snuffed out. Battleships from 3rd Fleet will commence bombardment of the approach just prior to the attack to give you some cover as you advance. Stand by and await our signal. Acknowledge.”

“Ja herr Överstelöjtnant, understood herr Överstelöjtnant. We will hold this position until further orders.” Håkan handed the handset back to Kili and all three descended the tower.

“Lt. von Tormsval!” Håkan gestured to the lieutenant.

“Ja herr Kapten?” von Tormsval saluted.

“Send a marksman and your radioman up that tower to establish an observation post.” Håkan ordered. “We may have to wait here for a while, the other Companies are still dealing with the last few artillery positions.”

“Ja herr Kapten!”

Håkan left the temple building, sat down on a stack of sandbags and lit his pipe before pulling out his mapcase and examining the maps of the city he’d received that morning. He knew where the other three companies of their battalion would be positioned, which meant he could get a good idea of which section of the city Company K would be attacking. He had great faith in his mens’ ability in open combat. They had seen plenty of that fending off Snow Orc attacks while stationed at Fortress Stengarberg. But none of them had experience in true urban combat. They had operated in urban areas when dealing with the more subtle kinds of monster that came down from the North such as skinwalkers and vampires, true. But there was a big difference between operating as military police against a single target in a friendly town, and assaulting a city full of enemy combatants.

Håkan himself had seen plenty of urban combat against guerrilla fighters as a lieutenant during the 5th Del A’kkuan Campaign, and had learned it was something best avoided whenever possible. He was particularly concerned about encountering enemy civilians. Allufalese cities had relatively normal telephone networks within each city, but intercity communication relied on a magic-based wireless network to transfer those calls over long distances. Now that Issmark had achieved total air supremacy, there would be bombers fitted with Torvald-Griggs Devices loitering overhead, blocking those communications and removing the need for ground forces to rely on truck-mounted TGDs for magic suppression. Good for Håkan and his men, not so good for the citizens of Silvale, who would likely not have received the order to evacuate in time.

Sometimes civilian casualties were unavoidable, but Håkan’s old-fashioned sense of honor compelled him to minimize them whenever possible. He recalled the first time he had seen a line of B/309 “Ragnarok” heavy bombers sitting at an airbase like sleeping dragons, and a momentary scowl crossed his face. They would do their part to secure this city before that become necessary, he resolved. Or before the Army was able to overrun too much of it, for that matter. He trusted his men. He knew most of them by name and was confident in their honor and professionalism as Imperial Guardsmen. But the Army was a different story. They were conscripted with much less stringent standards than Guardsmen were held to, and many of them had lost their fathers and grandfathers in the last war with Allufal. Revenge was a very ugly thing, Håkan knew that from experience.

Wanting to take his mind off this unpleasant train of thought, Håkan set down the map briefly and surveyed the rest of his Company as they regrouped and set up the Company HQ. The armored trucks had arrived, and the men who weren’t standing guard were busy resupplying, unwrapping packages of cardboard charger clips and stuffing them into bandoliers. Einar was overseeing this process, ensuring that ammunition was distributed evenly. A few trucks over was their ambulance where Company K’s head medic, DoktorLöjtnant Marnesson, was hard at work marshalling his platoon medics and seeing to the casualties. The ambulance, built on a modified Tb/40 and marked with a large red star in accordance with international treaties, had been a godsend. Håkan remembered the days when motor vehicles lacked the off road capability of the Tb/40, and casualties had to be piled into a horse-drawn cart, if you were lucky enough to have even that. Thanks to modern technology, soldiers could now be triaged and stabilized as close to the front as the Company HQ, and quickly transferred to field hospitals once stabile.

Having collected their ammunition and seen to their weapons, some of the Guardsmen of Company K dug out their mess tins and began to eat a quick lunch, sitting cross legged on the ground next to their trucks. Resourceful as usual, they had long since hit upon the trick of using the valve underneath the trucks’ radiators as a source of hot water to make coffee, filling the radiator back up with water from their canteens so the vehicle crews wouldn’t stab them in their sleep. Sounds of idle chatter and the clanking of mess tins mixed with the scent of instant coffee and clouds of smoke from the Royal Crown cigarettes issued as part of a trooper’s rations. They wafted through the now-still air, occasionally punctuated by a burst of machinegun fire or an artillery explosion in the distance. A stark contrast to the hectic violence of just a few minutes before, Håkan pondered, glancing at a bloodstain on the tail of his field blue trenchcoat. He turned back to his maps, and scrawled a few notes with a pencil, then straightened up and cleared his throat.

“Attention!” He said, resting his hands on his holster and sabre hilt.

“ATTENTION!” 1st Sgt. Magnusson echoed in his customary bark.

The troopers swiveled around to face where Håkan was standing, setting down their coffee mugs and mess tins.

“As soon as we receive the go-ahead from Battalion, we’re going to be pressing forward into Silvale. Everything up until now has been simple, but that changes once we’re in among those buildings. Fire support will be very limited, so we’re going to have to fight house-to-house with rifle and bayonet. Every window is a potential sniper’s nest, and every door a potential booby trap. I want everyone to keep their heads on a swivel; remember that since we have no choice but to cluster up, a single overlooked machinegun or grenadier can take out an entire troop. Troop leaders! I want you at the front of your units, your submachineguns are ideal for this kind of fighting.” Håkan instructed, pacing back and forth.

“What’s more, there are likely still many civilians trapped in the city. I will not be responsible for the deaths of women and children if at all possible, so remember your rules of engagement. Confirm your targets before firing. Anyone carrying a weapon is fair game. If you encounter civilians, search them for weapons, secure them, and alert your platoon commander so he can inform the MPs of their location. Move carefully, but don’t dawdle. Every moment we waste means more casualties for our compatriots in the Army. The Imperial Navy is going to pound the shit out of the enemy positions along our line of advance just before we attack, so we’ll move out in the trucks to cover as much ground as possible while the enemy is being suppressed. Then we’ll dismount and attack on foot, with the trucks bringing up the rear to provide rolling fire support.” Håkan stopped, and faced his troops. “Understood?”

“JA HERR KAPTEN!” They shouted in unison.

“Jävligt bra!” Håkan grinned.

Within about 20 minutes, Kili tapped Håkan on the shoulder and passed him the radio handset.

“Kapten von Regenhardt, this is Överstelöjtnant von Vanderberg. Hill 53 has been silenced. Prepare to move out. Naval bombardment will commence in five minutes. Understood?”

“Ja herr Överstelöjtnant, understood herr Överstelöjtnant.”

“Good luck, herr Kapten. May Drothane’s will be with you.”

“And also with you, herr Överstelöjtnant.” Håkan handed the handset back.

“ALL UNITS! SADDLE UP AND PREPARE TO MOVE OUT! NAVAL BOMBARDMENT INBOUND IN FIVE MINUTES!” Håkan roared, walking over to his command vehicle and stepping up onto the running board.

The order was passed down the line, and troops scurried to their vehicles, climbing into the back and hunkering down. The trucks started their engines and moved into formation as Håkan vaulted over the side wall and assumed his position next to the radio behind the cab. He fished his binoculars out of his jacket and peered over the roof of the cab, past the gunner’s cupola. A few minutes passed, and suddenly a curtain of flame erupted across the outskirts of the city. Barely a second later, they heard the explosions.

“ALL UNITS! ADVANCE!” Håkan ordered, and their engines roared as Company K’s armored trucks poured over the crest of the hill towards the city below.

Explosions ripped across the landscape again and again as the 16in naval shells detonated, kicking up massive gouts of dirt and bits of building as they struck the enemy’s fortified positions at the edge of Silvale. Whatever positions hadn’t been destroyed were too busy cowering in their foxholes to shoot back, and Company K’s drivers took full advantage of this, guiding their trucks over the fields until they were about a hundred meters from the edge of the bombardment zone.

“ALL RIFLE PLATOONS! DISMOUNT AND ASSUME WEDGE FORMATION!” Håkan ordered, grabbing his submachinegun from where he’d leaned it against the side of the vehicle and spilling out alongside his staff.

The rifle platoons dismounted as their truck gunners poured medium machinegun fire into the remains of the enemy positions to cover them. The Naval bombardment tapered off and ceased, just in time for Company K’s automatic riflemen and machinegun teams to pick up the slack. To their left and right, Håkan could see elements of Company I and Company J advancing as well, supported by their vehicles.

Suddenly, they heard the loud bark of a field piece, and a shell exploded just forward and to the right of one of their trucks.

“ANTI-TANK GUN, 2 0’CLOCK, RIGHT FLANK!” Someone yelled, pointing to a cloud of smoke rising from the remains of a position.

“TROOP B! RIFLE GRENADES!” Håkan heard von Tormsval yell, and nodded approvingly.

Two soldiers from von Tormsval’s platoon who had been issued grenade launching attachments braced their G/37 rifles against the ground, and fired a pair of frag grenades into the gun position. The explosions kicked up a cloud of dust, and von Tormsval ordered one of his other troops to charge. A few rifle cracks later, and a corporal signaled that the position was neutralized.

Company K pressed on, and had soon overwhelmed what was left of the enemy’s perimeter. Most of the guns had been taken out by the bombardment, and what remained could barely be described as a mechanical device, to say nothing of the crews who had been turned to paste. Now that they had reached the edge of the built-up area of the city, they could no longer rely on such support. The buildings were too close together for observers to identify friendly units, and the danger of friendly fire or triggering an unintended building collapse was too great.

Håkan’s rifle platoons stacked up at the first couple buildings, and commenced clearing operations. Troop NCOs went first, tossing grenades through the doors and then entering with submachineguns at the ready and their riflemen at their backs. The first line of buildings was empty, but as they exited the other side they started to draw fire from the windows of buildings further into the city. Following von Tormsval’s lead, Håkan’s platoon commanders ordered the use of grenade launchers. Rifle grenades arched through the air, some of them glancing off the sides of the buildings, but most finding their targets and exploding inside. The second story facade of one house collapsed outwards, expelling the shredded remains of a machinegun crew.

They passed the second row of structures, and came to a square which split off into three avenues.

“1st Platoon and Machinegun Team 1, take the left street. 3rd Platoon and Machinegun Team 2, take right. 2nd Platoon and the bulk of Weapons platoon will accompany me up the center street!” Håkan ordered his Lieutenants, and assumed his position with Lt. Kjellman’s platoon. “Watch your fire and maintain communication, troops from Company I and J will be on our flanks!”

They pushed deeper into the city, encountering stiffer resistance the farther in they got as the enemy fell back and consolidated his forces. Fortunately, they had yet to run across any civilians. Hopefully the enemy had had the wherewithal to corral them into the city center.

“CONTACT RIGHT! MACHINEGUN, GREEN BUILDING, SECOND STORY!” One of Kjellman’s men barked, and Håkan dropped behind a pile of rubble from a building the Army’s artillery had collapsed just in time to escape a spatter of bullets.

One of Kjellman’s men was not so lucky, and took a bullet in his right leg, sending him tumbling to the ground just out of reach of cover.

“SHIT! AUTOMATIC RIFLES, SUPPRESS THAT MACHINEGUN!” Kjellman yelled. “TROOP A, DOC, GET THAT MAN BEHIND COVER!”

As Kjellman’s automatic riflemen mounted their guns and poured fire into the offending window, his platoon medic and two riflemen ran over to the downed trooper, one providing cover while his counterpart and the medic pulled the casualty to safety. A third trooper loaded a rifle grenade and fired it into the machinegun nest.

“What’s the word, Doc?” Håkan growled, glancing over to where the medic was cutting the man’s trouser leg off and tending to his wound.

“Should be fine herr Kapten, but he’s not walking any time soon.”

“Right. Kjellman, bring up one of your trucks, get this man inside and send him back to the ambulance!” Håkan ordered.

Kjellman nodded and spoke quickly into his radio. The truck came up the center of the avenue, laying down suppressing fire with its mounted machinegun while the medic and his assistant pulled a stretcher from the back and loaded the injured trooper inside.

They continued to advance as the truck pulled back, and had soon reached the end of the avenue where it opened up into another square. Håkan ordered his men to halt, and surveyed the terrain ahead. This square was much larger. It had once held a large fountain with an equestrian statue, but this had been reduced to rubble by Army artillery. There was a thick line of decorative trees along the far side of the square, and Håkan was just about to order Kjellmen to send a troop ahead when one of the Lieutenant’s marksmen urgently signaled them to halt.

“TANK! TANK! 10 O’CLOCK, BEHIND THOSE TREES!” The marksman yelled.

“ALL UNITS! HOLD POSITION!” Håkan barked into his radio.

“GOT ANOTHER ONE, JUST AROUND THE CORNER AT 3 O’CLOCK!”

“Von Tormsval, von Ljungeston. I need your platoon sergeants and one of your rifle troops, please.” Håkan ordered. “Bengt, get up here and bring two of your anti-dragon teams.”


Troops from 1st and 3rd platoon soon emerged from the alleys on either side of Håkan’s street, led by Sgt. Persson and Sgt. Bromsten.

Håkan beckoned the sergeants over and pulled out his mapcase.

“We have two enemy tanks, here and here.” He pointed to their locations on the map. “Sgt. Bromsten, take your troop and one of Bengt’s DvG teams, and circle around behind the one on the right. Sgt. Persson, you take the other team and get behind the one on left. Move quietly and hold your fire until my order. Bengt, if you put a mortar team ontop of that tenement back there, do you think you can lob a couple shells into the square for me?”

“Ja herr Kapten, but there’s no way we can hit those tanks on the first shot, and as soon as they see rounds coming down they’re going to scoot.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on. They’ll reverse down the streets they came from, right into the sights of Bromsten and Persson’s DvG teams. Gunners, as soon as the tanks no longer have line of sight on our current position, I want you to put an APE round through their engine blocks and fall back. The ATC-93’s rear armor should be weak enough for the DvG to penetrate and get us a mobility kill. Then Bengt’s mortar teams can finished them off at their leisure, with your men acting as spotters. Understood?”

“Ja herr Kapten!” The men acknowledged.

“Very good. Move out!” Håkan ordered.

The troops quickly melted into the sidestreets, DvG teams in tow. A few minutes later, Kili passed Håkan the radio.

“This is Lt. Bengt, herr Kapten. My mortars are in position and ready.”

“Good. Hold fire until my order.”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

“This is Sgt. Bromsten, I’m in position herr Kapten.”

“Sgt. Persson, in position my Kapten.”

“Very good. All units, incoming fire, danger-close! Bengt, light them up!”

BLOOP! BLOOP!

The mortars sang out, and seconds later explosions ripped the square apart. One round landed fairly close to the potted trees, blasting them over and exposing the tank which quickly reversed, as did its counterpart. A few seconds later, they heard the telltale barks of the DvGs, accompanied by muffled explosions.

“Bromsten, Persson, report!” Håkan ordered.

“Persson here, target immobilized herr Kapten. We’re moving position now.”

“Bromsten here herr Kapten, Viskorpral Tenner must have gotten lucky and touched off the ammunition, target is on fire and the crew is bailing.”

“Very good, Sergeant Bromsten! Let them go, dismounted tankers are no threat to us. Fall back to my position.” Håkan congratulated him. “Persson, have you reached your new position?”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

“Do you still have eyes on the target?”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

“What’s its status?”

“Immobilized but not knocked out, herr Kapten. Turret is still traversing but we were able to get out of sight before they spotted us.”

“Very good. Contact Bengt and get me some mortar rounds on that thing!”

The mortars fired three more rounds, before Persson confirmed the kill over the radio.

“Excellent. Pull back to your platoon’s position.” Håkan ordered.

“Bromsten here, herr Kapten. We’ve got eyes on enemy infantry coming up behind us. Should we engage?”

“No, hold position and let them pass, but get your automatic rifleman dug in. Machinegun Troops D and B, get me a beaten zone on the entrance to that street! Hold fire until they’re in the open, then drive them back into Bromsten’s Mikkelsson fire. Von Tormsval, take your platoon and move around to hit them from the other flank, then link back up with Bromsten and hold position in case more come!” Håkan ordered, gathering up the maps and stuffing them into his mapcase before straightening up and moving forward.

Across the square, the first enemy soldiers appeared with rifles at the ready. They had evidently not sighted Håkan’s men yet, and appeared to be scanning the upper levels of the buildings, presumably looking for the artillery spotters who were in fact behind them.

“Wait for it.... Wait for it…” Håkan whispered, keeping his hand raised until the bulk of the enemy column had exited the alley but was still bunched up, then lowered his hand and bellowed “LIGHT THEM UP!”

The machineguns burst to life in a cacophonous roar, pouring tracers into the bewildered enemy. The rifles joined them, riflemen picking off targets who tried to flee or take cover while the machineguns laid down a beaten zone on the main body. Just as Håkan had predicted, they attempted to fall back into the alley only to run into Bromsten’s light machinegun.

“The enemy is confused and off balance!” He proclaimed, rising to his feet and popping the bolt on his KsP out of its safety notch. “Advance and destroy!”

Riflemen surged to their feet and advanced across the square, firing as they moved to keep the enemy confused and suppressed. Håkan charged with them, firing bursts from his submachinegun. He ventilated two men before the last remaining officer threw down his weapon and the rest followed suit, rifles clattering to the ground as they threw up their hands.

“CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!” Håkan yelled, lowering his own weapon and approaching the surrendered enemy.

Clearing his throat, he paused to remember what he knew of the Common tongue.

“You, officer, step forward.” Håkan gestured to the man in question. “I am Captain Håkan von Regenhardt of His Imperial Majesty’s 338th Motorized Rifles. Identify yourself.”

“I am Lt. Vanli Silmor of the Hegemony’s 13th Silvale Hussars.” The elf stated. “I am formally surrendering to you under Article 23 of the Saliari Concordes and expect treatment under the auspices of such.”

“Very well. Your sidearm please.” Håkan held out a hand expectantly.

As the elf handed over his pistol, one of Håkan’s men snickered.

“No wonder they call elves of Allufal cowards!” another laughed “your very own city is falling and you would surrender rather than fight to the end to buy your comrades time to escape!”

“But I am buying time.” The elf replied, in Issmarkish to the surprise of everyone. “Your field blues betray you. You are Imperial Guard, and that means you will do everything by the book, no? Taking my men prisoner and dealing with them will waste more of your time and occupy more of your men than fighting you would have. All I have sacrificed is an honorable death, which means far more to your people than mine.”

Håkan chuckled, having found a new respect for the man.

“You have made only one error” he observed “you are correct to trust us Guardsmen to follow the laws of honor and war, but in holding up our advance you only cede more of your city to our brothers in the Army, who perhaps do not have so many compunctions.”

“True enough, but they are also easier to fight.” The elf grinned defiantly.

“Sgt. Magnusson, police these prisoners. Kpl. Angeston, deal with their weapons. Kili, radio Battalion and have them send up an MP unit to transport these men. Lt. von Ljungeston, have one of your squads stay here to guard the prisoners.” Håkan ordered. “The rest of you, secure the area and prepare to move out.”

With one squad staying behind, they pressed deeper into the city. At first resistance had stiffened the further they penetrated, but once they had reached the edge of the city center it began to turn into a full-on rout. Håkan and his men encountered position after position where machineguns, mortars and even rifles had been abandoned by fleeing enemies. As they were policing one such position for booby traps, Kili approached Håkan and handed him the radio.

“This is Kapten von Regenhardt.” He answered, crouching down and slinging his submachinegun.

“This is Överstelöjtnant von Vanderberg. What’s your position?”

“We’ve just crossed Morro Street and are proceeding towards the police station on Hrorvar and Leselion, herr Överstelöjtnant.”

“Very good herr Kapten. Once you’ve secured the station, I need you to take some men and head southeast towards the Helmare Temple on 38th street. The Army is currently engaged in a standoff with some civilians who are refusing to leave the building and will only surrender to the Imperial Guard. I’d send Kapten Eisnerberg from Company B but I recall you have more policing experience.”

“Understood herr Överstelöjtnant, we’ve encountered this here as well. The enemy seems to trust the Guard to abide by treaties more than they trust the Army. As soon as I’ve secured the station I’ll proceed immediately and report back when the situation is resolved.”

The police station turned out to be abandoned as well, and so as soon as Håkan was satisfied his executive officer had the situation under control, he took two rifle squads from Kjellman’s platoon and made for the location von Vanderberg had directed him to. It was an ancient temple, an enormous edifice of mossy stone and statuary, sandwiched between two more modern buildings. A line of Imperial Army troops, immediately recognizable by their grey uniforms as opposed to the field blue of Håkan’s men, were assembled around the building accompanied by two StrV/4 “Vargen” medium tanks.

“Oye, VaktsKapten!” A very bored-looking Army officer waved him over as he stepped out of the armored truck.

“Löjtnant…?” Håkan asked, annoyed by the man’s casual tone.

“Löjtnant Orenön, Kapten. Good thing you got here, I was just about ready to have one of the tanks knock a hole in the wall.”

“No need for that. Have your men lower their weapons and turn the turrets on those tanks around.” Håkan turned to one of his men. “Get me a bullhorn out of the truck.”

Taking the bullhorn, Håkan handed his submachinegun and revolver to one of his men, secured his sabre in its scabbard with the ceremonial tassel, and stepped in front of the assembled troops, facing the temple.

“Attention. This is Captain Håkan von Regenhardt of his Majesty’s Imperial Guard. Put down your weapons and come out one at a time with your hands up, and I give you my word of honor that you will not be harmed. I repeat, come out one at a time with your hands up, and leave any weapons behind, and you will not be harmed in accordance with Article 15 of the Saliari Concords.”

There was a brief pause, then the door slowly opened and an old elf peered out hesitantly. Seeing that he was not immediately fired on, he slowly emerged from the door, clearly unarmed and with his hands up. One of the Army soldiers next to Håkan raised his rifle, but Håkan placed his hand on it and firmly pushed it back down. The old elf, perhaps the temple’s priest, walked over to Håkan, stopping a few meters from him.

“If my people come out, what will happen to them?” The old priest asked tentatively.

“My men” Håkan gestured to his blue-clad troops “will escort you back to our company headquarters. Then we’ll hand you over to the Military Police, who will take you to a civilian holding area. Once the city is secured you will be allowed to return to your homes unharmed. These holding areas are in compliance with the health and hygiene standards established in Article 15, they are not prison camps, and you will not be treated as prisoners. However, any attempt to conceal a weapon, or to assault any Imperial soldier, will of course be dealt with immediately and harshly.”

“You give us your word?” The priest asked again.

“As an Officer and a gentleman, I do.” Håkan nodded respectfully. “I come to you with my sword tied and bearing no weapons.”

The priest nodded back, bit his lip in thought, and then turned and went back into the building. A few seconds later, elves began filtering out one by one, with their hands in the air. Håkan gestured for his men to start taking charge of them, then walked over to Kili and motioned for the radio.

“This is Kapten von Regenhardt for Överstelöjtnant von Vanderberg. We have secured the civilians and are bringing them back to the police station to hand off to the MPs.”

“Very good herr Kapten. I’ll send an MP unit up for them.”

“Thank you herr Överstelöjtnant. We have now reached the limits of our allotted sector on the map. Do we have new orders?”

“No herr Kapten. The last of the enemy’s organized forces appear to have surrendered. I hear some units are still dealing with small pockets of resistance, but for now the order is to hold what we have.”

“Very well herr Överstelöjtnant. I will establish my headquarters at that police station and begin setting up patrols until I receive further orders.”

++

The rest of the day would pass uneventfully. Once the civilians were handed off to the MP Unit, Håkan turned his attention to establishing his headquarters. The police station had been left largely untouched by the fighting, although the armory had been emptied out entirely. Fortunately the records were still there, and Håkan ordered them to be boxed up so they could be sent out for translation. If they were forced to occupy this area for a while, the police reports would be invaluable. His comns sergeant, Olar Larsson, could speak and understand Alufallese but could not read it. The Alufallese used a completely different script from either the Common alphabet or the Issmarkish Futhark, composed of logograms instead of a true alphabet.

Håkan established his own office in the former police chief’s, having one of the vehicle crews haul up a radio and encoded telex set so he could communicate with Battalion HQ directly and securely. The telex wasn’t one of the fancy ElekGåta machines which were claimed to be uncrackable, but rather a simpler version used for field communications. Still, there was a tiny explosive device located inside the machine’s casing which could be activated by pulling a pin. This would destroy the inner workings in case the machine and its codes were at risk of capture. He decided to leave the intracity telephone system in place, as it might be useful once the lines were back up.

His staff soon found their own offices as well, with Sgt. Larsson and the rest of the radiomen taking up residence in the station’s communications room, Einar and Kpl. Angesson setting up shop in the armory, and Dr.-Lt. Marnesson converting the morgue into a makeshift medbay. They were able to fit most of the PLb/40s in the station’s motor pool, but four were left over and these were set up on street corners surrounding the station where they would serve as observation posts. The Torvald-Griggs Carrier was hooked up to the city power grid to conserve fuel and boost its range. Bengt had his machinegun and mortar teams begin filling sandbags and setting up emplacements on the roof of the station.

There was no way the few bunks provided for the night shift would fit all 229 of Håkan’s men, and so the office building next to the station was commandeered. The desks and such were dragged out and replaced with hammocks, and a mess line was established. Watch shifts were organized, and Håkan’s XO and 1st Sergeant began planning out patrol routes for their sector. Håkan had not been explicitly told they would be staying, but he knew his nation’s doctrine well enough to suspect that Imperial Guard units would be used to ensure the city was completely pacified, and with his own experience as both a Colonial Command officer and commander of a Home Chain Fortress he was likely to be among those selected for this task. They would certainly need to wait here for a few days at least, until supplies and casualty replacements were brought in, and the walking wounded were fully patched up.

With the encampment business mostly taken care of, Håkan retired to his office and began sorting through the combat reports that were beginning to come in from his junior officers. They had suffered 27 casualties; 6 dead, 8 seriously wounded, and 13 lightly wounded. Of the lightly wounded, 10 would be able to return to duty almost immediately, and the remaining 3 within the next few days. Unfortunately, one of them was a PLb driver who had gotten some shrapnel in his right hand and was unable to drive. Most Imperial Guard troops were from small towns and rural backgrounds, where personal cars were still rare, and didn’t even know how to drive. This meant an entire squad would be either immobile or undefended until a replacement driver or cupola gunner could be obtained. Håkan made a mental note to have vehicle crews start training the riflemen to operate the trucks during downtime, so that anyone could replace a driver or gunner when needed, and to include recommendations to address this training oversight in his formal report.

As Håkan was filing away the reports and preparing his own, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” Håkan said, closing the cover on the telex machine so that nobody could see its key settings.

The door opened, and Einar entered. A short, burly fellow who more likely than not had a Dwarf somewhere in his family tree, Einar Bergesson had been Håkan’s supply sergeant for many years. The two were good friends, insomuch as an officer and an enlisted man could be.

“Hej, Kapten. I’ve gotten off the horn with Battalion Supply, and they’re sending us some new toys. Transports are arriving as soon as the Imperial Engineers can clear the harbour. We’re getting an attached tank platoon with four Vargens and a Draken. The flamethrowers will still take a while to arrive, but they’re sending us white phosphorus shells for Bengt’s mortars as a stopgap, plus the Draken.” Einar saluted and explained, pulling out a chair and taking a seat across from Håkan.

“Hrm. Are they moving us out then?” Håkan asked, cracking his knuckles and turning to face the man properly.

“No, I think we’ll be here for a while. Because they’re also sending a dog truck with four Björnhunds and their handlers.”

“Indeed. They would send us Tormsstövare for detecting mines. Björnhunds mean police work.”

“Speaking of supplies,” Einar reached into the magazine dump bag on his hip and withdrew a glass bottle “Herr Doktor found this in the morgue. The old coroner had good taste.”
Håkan smiled at the runic script on the bottle.

“Aquavit!” He chuckled. “I didn’t expect to see that here.”

“Neither did I. Marnesson disputes its healing properties, and so I decided it should be allocated to someone who appreciates its virtues.”

Håkan turned to the cabinet behind him, and after a bit of rummaging located a pair of highball glasses. Einar poured a finger of liquor into each glass.

“Leve Issmark! Leve Kejsaren! Skål!” They recited, and drank.

Both exhaled sharply, setting their empty glasses down with a clink. Håkan pulled out his pipe and began packing it absentmindedly.

“So, my Kapten, are you sour because your doom and gloom predictions have not come true?” Einar chuckled.

“Far from it.” Håkan lit his pipe. “I am very pleased with how well this invasion is proceeding. But to let down my guard and become overconfident now would be a grave mistake. The occupation is the hardest part of any war. I have known many a commander in Del A’kkua who thought that just because the bandits fled from him when he was out in force, that they were not a threat. Commanders like that lost a great deal of men by their hubris. And this situation is much worse because there is such bad blood between our nations. We will have to worry about our own men as well as the locals.”


“You can’t police the entire Imperial Army, my Kapten. And I would advise you not to try. Just a few years ago we could pull rank with impunity, but now it seems every other Greyback is a Party Kommissar with a direct line to the politicians in Vålsungsgard.”

“My dear Einar, why would you ruin perfectly good liquor by putting the foul taste of the Party in my mouth?”

“That is what I am talking about Kapten. That kind of talk can get one into a lot of trouble these days.”

“Bah! The Viceroy and his monkeys in suits can all go boil their heads. My oath is to the Emperor, and my allegiance is to the Imperial Throne. The day we have Kommissars in the Guard is the day I resign my commission and go back to Del A’kkua. I would rather live in the desert with the rattlesnakes than have some stuffed shirt with no military experience tell me how to command my company. At least the rattlesnakes will let me know when they’re going to stab me in the back.” Håkan scowled, beard bristling.

“I agree, but you would do well to apply the same cautiousness you have in military affairs to how you speak as well. None of us like it, but the Party controls the RiksDag and the Viceroy has the Emperor’s ear. It’s not worth being court-martialed over.”

“Let us speak of more pleasant things then. Have you inventoried the station yet?”

“Ja herr Kapten. The armory is cleaned out entirely. I hope the enemy army took the weapons, because otherwise we’re going to have a hell of a time recovering them from the civilian population.”

“Indeed. I don’t like to take a man’s weapons from him, but the lives of my men and maintaining order are more important. If we give anyone so much as a chance to fire on Imperial troops it will be a bloodbath. Which will only provoke more people to resist us.”

“That may be unavoidable. They won’t give you the whole city, and a lot of these commanders are from remote postings and have no experience with occupation or police work.”

“Then we shall have to set an good example and hope the rest follow it. I’m going to have someone gather as many community leaders as they can find tomorrow and get some information out of them. Occupying a city without knowing the people you’re dealing with is like strolling into a minefield with your hands in your pockets.”

“Indeed, herr Kapten. With your permission, I’d like to requisition some additional chocolate rations for patrols to hand out to the local youth, and see if we can’t get the food supplies for households distributed through us directly. People are much more hesitant to bite the hand that is feeding them, and children can be an invaluable source of information.”

“Very good, Sergeant. You have my full support. And thank you for the drink. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my report. Dismissed.”

“Ja herr Kapten.” Einar nodded, and departed.

Opening the telex machine, Håkan tucked his pipe between his teeth and resumed typing. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

++

Seagulls squealed and wheeled overhead as the transport ship’s heavy steel ramp bit into the stonework of the pier. There was a great rumble from within the ship’s belly, and diesel fumes mixed with the scent of harbour trash as a line of tanks emerged, making their way up the pier. Håkan, Einar and Lt. Rune Haverfall, Håkan’s XO, stood on the wall overlooking the proceedings as the tanks were offloaded.

“Those are ours.” Einar tossed a cigarette butt into the harbour and pointed nonchalantly at a group of tanks. “Those four are StridsVagn/4, Vargen. And that one is a Draken flame tank, StridsVagn/4F.”

StrV/4 Vargen, or “The Wolf” was a Medium Tank of roughly 35 tons. It was primarily armed with a 5cm high-velocity gun, with decent armor and a powerful twin engine. This was the main tank of Issmark, replacing the outdated StrV/2 Stövaren and supplementing the StrV/3 Räven light tank and StrV/5 Björnen heavy breakthrough tank. The Draken flame variant was actually based on the IKV/2 Rävhonnan or “Vixen”, a StrV/4 hull with a 7.7cm casemate gun instead of a turret used as an infantry support vehicle and assault gun by the Army. However the Imperial Guard had refused to adopt the Rävhonnan, citing its inability to keep pace with the PLb/40 thanks to the underpowered substitute engine, and thus the Draken was type classified as a StrV/4 in Imperial Guard service. It packed a 20mm autocannon in a small cupola turret, plus the flamethrower unit in the casemate. Massive flamethrower fuel drums on the rear of the tank gave it a ponderous and awkward appearance, but if damaged the fuel would merely spill onto the ground instead of exploding inside the tank.

“What about that one?” Rune pointed at a great behemoth that was being winched off the ship’s deck, as it was too heavy for the ramp.

“Ah, that’s Björnen. She’s a real monster. 55 tons with a 9cm anti-air cannon for her main armament. There isn’t a tank on the field today with enough gun to penetrate her frontal armor.” Einar explained.

“Why can’t we have those then?” Rune chuckled.

“Too slow, too heavy, and there’s not enough of them because they’re too expensive. They’re reserved for breakthroughs, assaults, and enemy tank formations, using them for infantry support would be a waste of resources. Plus they’d hold us back, only the StrV/3 and StrV/4 can keep up with our armored trucks.” Einar replied, lighting another cigarette.

“When did you become a tanker?” Håkan asked.

“Just a casual interest my Kapten. Armor or no armor I’m much happier in the rear with the gear.” Einar smirked.

As the group of tanks Einar had pointed out approached, Håkan flagged down the lead vehicle’s commander. The tank squealed to a stop, its brand new dull green field paint gleaming in the morning light.

“This 7th Platoon?” Håkan asked, looking up at the tank commander sitting in his cupola.

“Ja herr Kapten. Are you Kapten von Regenhardt of K Company?” The commander asked, pushing his goggles up onto his leather helmet.

“Ja herr Löjtnant. You’re von Skogsgard, no?”

“Ja herr Kapten. Förste Löjtnant Thormud von Skogsgard, RiksVakt PansarKår, at your service herr Kapten.”

“Very good herr Löjtnant. Our truck is just up ahead, we’ll lead you to the headquarters.”

“Jaja herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard saluted and descended back into his cupola.

Climbing into the command PLb, they escorted the tank platoon through the streets of Silvale towards the police station. Shutters slammed closed, then creaked open slightly as people peered at the rumbling steel beasts from their windows. Behind them, the once-perfectly aligned cobblestones were left cracked and misshapen. The Allufalese tanks were all under 20 tons, likely in part because the ancient infrastructure couldn’t support heavier ones. Håkan found himself imagining what his history professor from the Academy would have thought of this wanton destruction of an ancient road, and his brow furrowed briefly. This city had existed since before Issmark was a unified Empire. And they had no choice but to destroy much of it in order to achieve their objectives. Del A’kkua had been a lot easier. One stretch of desert or ghost town was no more important than another.

When they arrived in front of the police station, Lt. Skogsgard dismounted and removed his helmet and goggles. To the surprise of everyone but Håkan, he had pointed ears. Once the soot was wiped from his face and they could see his silvery blonde hair, the elven features became much more apparent.

“Well met, Löjtnant Skogsgard.” Håkan shook his hand.

“And you, herr Kapten.”

“Are you from Sammrik then?” Håkan asked.

“Ja herr Kapten. If you’re concerned about my loyalties…” The Lt. started, but Håkan cut him off.

“I didn’t think the Sammrikska Alvr were High Elves…”

“No herr Kapten.” Skogsgard grinned. “We’re Snow Elves of Issmark.”

“Very good, herr Löjtnant.”

“Do you have any orders for us, herr Kapten?”

“Ja, bring your tanks into the station courtyard and keep them tuned up and ready. I don’t need you just yet, but when I do I want you prepared to deploy quickly.”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

The tanks rumbled back to life and rounded the corner.

“Huh. I knew there were snow elves in the Guard, I just never expected to see one” Einar mused.

“Their homelands got the worst of the last war. And his people have a long memory.” Håkan stated. “Now, let’s go and see who Kpl. Beringfal has managed to find.”

Beringfal had been ordered to find “pillars of the community” and gather them at a local pub. Håkan had figured that meeting on somewhat neutral ground would encourage more to show up. As he entered with his staff, they handed their gunbelts to the privates flanking the entrance. Håkan had insisted that they at least appear unarmed, though he knew separating an Issmarkish man from all of his knives was a virtual impossibility. Indeed, he still had one in his boot at the moment. Intimidation was a useful tool in Håkan’s estimation, but it should be used sparingly for best effect. Let them see his good side now, and his bad side would be all the more forceful when the time was right.

Sgt. Larsson had been with Beringfal to act as a translator, and he followed Håkan and Rune into the pub, standing next to the captain on the small stage provided for musicians.

“Mina damer och herrar, I am Kapten Håkan von Regenhardt of the Imperial Guard. I have been selected by Regimental Command to oversee this sector. As of now, this place is officially to be considered an Occupied Territory of the Federal Empire of Issmark. I am sure you are confused and concerned. I am here today to clear up that confusion address those concerns. First, know that I bare you no ill-will. I am the Emperor’s hand, and I will execute my orders without exception or hesitation, but I am also a man of honor, and I have no interest in causing unnecessary bloodshed. If you cooperate peacefully and obey the laws of Issmark, that can be avoided. Our laws are harsh, but fair. I give you my word that no person will be punished without fair tribunal and due consideration of all evidence, and this applies to my men as well. We are soldiers, not thugs. Any looting, extortion, assault on noncombatants or other violations of the laws of war will be punished swiftly and without mercy or preference. However, in return I require your people to abide by these simple rules.”

As Håkan spoke, Sgt. Larsson translated.

“Firstly, any and all dangerous weapons must be surrendered to Sgt. Einar Bergesson at our headquarters in the police station. I don’t like to deprive anyone of their right to self-defense, but the safety of my troops comes first. You have 24 hours to surrender your weapons, after which any person found concealing a weapon will be arrested and sentenced to 10 strikes with the cane for a first offense. Repeat offenders will be shot. Any person who surrenders a weapon, or notifies one of my men of a cache of weapons, or of any other crime will be issued extra rations in return for their cooperation. Secondly, as of this moment a curfew is in force. Any person found outside after 18:00 hours without a lantern, and any person found out for any reason between the hours of 22:00 and 08:00 will be arrested and sentenced to 5 strikes with the cane. Repeat offenses will result in more strikes. Any person who attempts to flee or hide from my patrols during these hours, or is seen to be lurking about in a suspicious manner will be considered hostile and shot. No person is to photograph or record the activities of my troops in any way, offenders will have their camera or other device confiscated and will be sentenced to 5 strikes with the cane. No person is to publicly insult, disparage or slander the name of the Emperor, or of Issmark, or of my men. Offenders will be sentenced to 5 strikes with the cane. Theft or assault against your neighbors, lying to myself or my to officers and troops, hoarding supplies, vandalism, public drunkenness and civil disturbance will all be punished by 10 strikes with the cane. Anyone who posts bills, paints graffiti or otherwise publishes messages disparaging Issmark, my men or the occupation will be punished with 10 strikes with the cane. Littering, dumping and any other improper disposal of garbage will be punished with 1 strike with the cane, and offenders will be made to clean the streets. Admitting to these crimes and accepting responsibility when questioned may result in a lighter sentence, at my discretion.”

As Håkan related the rules, and Larsson translated, Cpl. Beringfal distributed paper copies among the crowd.

“The following actions are punishable by public execution without exception; anyone who assaults or resists a uniformed soldier or guardsman will be shot. Anyone who steals Imperial Property will be shot. Anyone who engages in conspiracy will be shot. Anyone who sabotages Imperial equipment or vehicles will be shot. Anyone who hordes weapons or constructs explosive devices or other traps will be shot. Anyone who knowingly aids, hides or fails to report any person wanted for crimes against the Empire will be shot. Anyone who aids or abets another in committing a criminal act will be shot. Anyone who plans to commit any of these acts will be shot. Anyone who communicates or relays information to enemy forces will be shot. Anyone who commits more than 2 repeated minor infractions will be shot. Any person who commits murder or rape of an adult will be beheaded. Any person who commits murder or rape of a child will be beaten and hung from the neck until dead. Any person who freely admits to any of these crimes save the last when questioned will be permitted to retain their honor by taking their own life in private. Any person who knowingly and falsely accuses any other person of a crime will receive the same punishment that person would have received. If a crime is committed by a child, the child’s parent or guardian will bear the punishment. You may think these standards excessive, but they are the same standards to which I hold myself and my men. Do I make myself clear?”

The audience nodded.

“Cooperation will be appreciated and collectively rewarded. If there are no disturbances or crimes for a significant period, certain rules such as the curfew may be relaxed or even eliminated. As an Imperial Guard Captain, I have significant judicial authority and discretion within Imperial Territories. My mandate is to maintain order. I will do whatever is necessary to accomplish this, and no more. I do not ask you to like me, or respect me, only to obey the law. In return, I make these guarantees; no personal property will be seized without just compensation, no person will be searched or interrogated without justification, no person will be tortured, no person will be evicted from their home and no person will be forced to work save as punishment for improper disposal of garbage or vandalism. All households will be provided with basic food rations, to be distributed by Sgt. Bergesson. Any injured person may receive basic medical care from Doktor-Löjtnant Marnesson. Commerce will not be interrupted, you may continue to operate your shops without hindrance. I will cooperate with you to the extent of my orders and ability to address issues within the community. If you make this easy, restrictions will be lifted. If you make it difficult, new ones will be imposed. The choice is yours. I will now open the floor to any questions.”

About an hour later, Håkan left the establishment with his staff, satisfied that he had made the desired impression. Three locals who could speak Common had been selected as intermediaries, to advise him and help communicate with the general population. Copies of the mandates had been distributed to be spread around, and a patrol had been sent out to post additional copies on notice boards and storefronts. The square in front of the police station was being converted into a makeshift court, with a stage and scaffolds set up.

The next step was to organize and schedule regular patrols, and conduct a census so that identification papers could be issued. The census would have to wait until the station records could be translated so it could be checked against those records, but in the meantime NCOs would have to be trained to read existing Hegemony IDs. Checkpoints would need to be set up at all the entrances to the sector, both to monitor the civilians coming in and out, and to make sure Army units didn’t cause trouble outside of their own sectors. There was a lot of work to do, but Håkan had a good feeling about the whole thing. The people here didn’t seem to possess the same nationalistic devotion to the Hegemony that Håkan’s people had for their country and Emperor. As long as they were given sufficient bread and not abused, it should be fairly easy to keep them under control.

++

“Kontakt! Target dead ahead, 200 meters!” Lt. von Skogsgard ordered. “Load HE!”

The 50mm round rattled into the breach of his Vargen’s high velocity gun, and the engine whined as the barrel swivelled and elevated.

“Loading HE!” The loader cried. “READY TO FIRE!”

“FIRE!” von Skogsgard yelled.

“SKOT KOMMER!” The gunner replied, and pressed the firing lever.

The gun barked, and 200 meters away an abandoned car erupted in flames.

“Vargen Gammelblå reports, target destroyed herr Kapten.”

Håkan clicked his stopwatch and raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed.

“Gammelblå, target number two please.” He ordered.

“Ja herr Kapten,” von Skogsgard acknowledged “Kontakt! Target 2 O’Clock, 300 meters, behind that wall! Load AP!”

“Loading AP! Ready to fire!”

“FIRE!”

“SKOT KOMMER!”

The AP round punched straight through the moldering paddock wall and a second automobile burst into flames.

“Target destroyed, herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard grinned triumphantly.

“Very good, very good. I think that will suffice for today, herr Löjtnant.” Håkan returned the watch to his pocket. “Troopers, police those fires and return to your normally scheduled patrols.”

“Well herr Kapten, are my crew satisfactory?” von Skogsgard asked, lighting a cigarette and extracting himself from his commander’s cupola, only to drop the cigarette onto the deck and swear. “Perkele!”

“As long as your loader isn’t as clumsy as you.” Håkan responded with a good-natured heckle. “But in seriousness, your tanks will make a fine addition to K Company. The DvG/25 is all well and good, but the best weapon to kill a tank is another tank.”

“Jaja herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard grinned, retrieving his smoke and blowing a perfect smoke ring. “When the rubber hits the road we’ll serve rounds on any target you wish.”

“Or the steel, as it were.” Håkan kicked Gammelblå’s track lightly with the toe of his boot. “For now though, I’d like to keep the tanks in the motor pool.”

“Why herr Kapten, if I may? Surely the sight of our tanks will discourage resistance?”

“Not necessarily, herr Löjtnant. You know how to move a stubborn mule, no?”

“Ja, with a carrot in front and a stick behind.”

“Precisely. However, if the carrot is offered too frequently, it ceases to be desirable. And if the stick is applied too liberally, it ceases to be feared and becomes resented. Do you like films, herr Löjtnant?”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

“Monster films?”

“Ja herr Kapten.”

“In a monster film, which is better? To show the whole monster all the time, or to only show a little bit sometimes?”

“To only show a little bit, naturally. It’s scarier if you can’t see it. When it’s out in the open you can tell it’s just a couple of dwarves in a suit.”

“Indeed. An occupation has much in common with a film or a play. The occupied population are the audience and we are putting on a show for them. In a theater, if you play to the audience correctly, they will not pelt the stage with tomatoes. In an occupation, if we play the population correctly, they will not pelt our barracks with molotovs. It requires a delicate balance of generosity and intimidation to produce the desired compliance. Give them too much carrot, and they will not take us seriously. Give them too much stick, and they will hate us to the point where they will not stop resisting until they are all dead. Your tanks are the stick, and I’m saving them until at least the end of the 2nd act.”

“Makes sense to me, herr Kapten. However if my men have nothing to do but drink vodka and check track tension all day they will grow restless very quickly.”

“I’m already instituting a cross-training program to familiarize the riflemen with how to operate our PLbs. If your men have an excess of time on their hands, I’ll send you some line troops to cross-train on the tanks as well. You don’t need to turn them into proper tankers, just make sure they know the basics well enough to temporarily replace a casualty in the field, or do some basic administrative driving. I don’t want to have to abandon a tank if I can help it. And it will be useful to have a way to move enemy tanks if we capture them intact.”

“That will certainly occupy plenty of time, herr Kapten.” von Skogsgard smirked at the prospect of teaching rifle troopers how to operate a tank.

“Of that I am sure.” Håkan grinned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a dog.”

As Håkan entered the police station’s motor pool about 20 minutes later, he was greeted by a cacophony of barking from a modified armored car that was waiting for him. The Issmarkish Björnhund had been bred and trained by the Imperial Guard for centuries for its original purpose: fending off bears and other dangerous animals menacing ski patrols. However, in the last 50 years or so the breed had found a new role as a potent detection tool and nonlethal weapon for police work.

The Björnhund was a large dog; fast, tough and fearless with its trademark pointed ears and thick black-and-white coat. They could be trained to chase down a fleeing man and pin him to the ground without killing him, or to track his scent or sound in conditions where a trooper couldn’t see five meters in front of him. However more often than not, their mere presence and low, threatening growl was sufficient to convince a troublesome person to comply. A Guardsman might hesitate to pull the trigger, but a Björnhund would not hesitate to bite you once released. Håkan had worked with Björnhunds before, and found them to be one of the more useful tools at his disposal when dealing with a civilian population. The fact that he had a soft spot for dogs from years of hunting with his father certainly didn’t hurt.

The dog carrier was a PB/38 armored car which had had its rear driving position removed and replaced by a compartment containing four cages. Each cage had an armored door with a solenoid lock which could be triggered from the driving compartment, releasing one or more dogs at the flick of a switch. The new vehicle was thus dubbed PB/38h. Based on its markings, it had come from Sammrik just like Lt. von Skogsgard and his tank platoon. This was to be expected; Sammrik was home to some of the best attack dog training facilities in Issmark, and the dogs were trained to respond only to commands in the local Sammoi tongue. Sammoi was virtually unpronounceable by anyone who was not a native speaker, and this ensured the dogs would only take orders from their handlers. Håkan had had a kennel of Sammoi dogs and their handlers as part of his police forces at Home Chain Fortress Stengarberg, and was pleased to serve alongside them again.

“Hej herr Kapten.” A man in a Corporal’s uniform who had been leaning against the car straightened up and saluted.

The HND insignia on his collar, cap and brassard indicated he was a dog handler. His pale complexion and sharp blue eyes indicated he was indeed from Sammrik.

“Hallå Korporal, I am Kapten von Regenhardt. Where’s your superior officer?”

“Löjtnant Heiskanen and Korporal Mattilla went to find fresh water for the dogs, herr Kapten. They should be back shortly.” A second HND trooper poked his head out of the driver’s door.

“Thank you Korporal,” Håkan nodded. “I trust you’ve got good dogs for me?”

“Of course herr Kapten.” They echoed in unison.

There was a fierce pride in their eyes. These men had been trained alongside their dogs and man and dog had a strong bond.

“Kapten von Regenhardt?” The HND Lieutenant, Heiskanen, had emerged from the police station.

He was flanked by Einar and the final HND man, Kpl. Hellmut Mattilla, both of whom were carrying water cans.

“Löjtnant Heiskanen, I presume?” Håkan asked.

“Ja herr Kapten. Would you like to see the dogs?” The Sammoi man asked.

“Very much so, herr Löjtnant.”

Heiskanen nodded to his NCOs, who unclipped the leashes from their belts and approached the dog hatches. The dogs stood remarkably still as they opened, until the handlers ordered them to jump out and stand at attention to be leashed. They were fine specimens, well-cared for and with the keenness of eye that only comes with expert training. Predominantly black and white, they were the result of combining an ancient Sammoi hunting dog with shepherd dogs from Western Issmark and displayed the best traits of both. Each dog bore a viskorporal insignia on his collar and wore a thick leather vest of sorts designed to deter detainees from shivving the dog anywhere vital. This vest was stamped with the dog’s name and unit number, and served as the attachment point for the leash.

Håkan glanced at the Lt. and then at one of the dogs. Heiskanen tilted his head in affirmation. The dog’s handler, Kpl. Hellmut, placed a hand on his dog’s shoulder and gave him a command. The dog whined, and relaxed. Håkan reached out a hand, moving slowly but not hesitantly. He wasn’t sure quite how, but dogs seemed to know when you were acting nervous, and could become unpredictable. This dog seemed pretty good natured however, and licked Håkan’s glove without hesitation before allowing the captain to scratch him behind his ears. Perhaps part of that sixth sense was being able to tell that Håkan was part of his handler’s pack, just a bit higher up the pecking order. Leaving the handlers to water and attend to their dogs, Håkan retired to his office to have a pipe and determine the extent of that day’s paperwork situation.

++

The next few days would pass fairly uneventfully. Life was slowly starting to come back to the streets. Markets started to buzz again. People opened their windows, children played in the streets and the Imperial Guard troops were starting to feel less like a frontline army and more like the federal police they served as in peacetime. The population was a little sparser than it had been, with many people having fled before the city surrendered, but more people were moving into Company K’s district by the day. Rumors of widespread looting in other sectors of the city seemed to be the cause, on top of people made homeless by the housing needs of the Imperial Army’s vast manpower. The Army controlled very little of the physical area of the city, but had many more troops clustered in the areas they did occupy.

It wasn’t perfect. There were a number of confrontations, many of them coming down to disagreements as to what precisely counted as a weapon. Troopers were confiscating heirloom swords and muskets from peoples’ walls, a practice that did not sit well with Håkan, who eventually made an executive decision. Confiscations would be restricted to modern cartridge firearms and prized family possessions that had already been taken would be returned. Carrying of anything bigger than pocket knives in public however would remain off the table. This reduced the number of arguments considerably, but food distribution was an ever-chaotic process that threatened to descend into a riot with alarming frequency. Fortunately it hadn’t ever come to that, but Håkan was gravely concerned about what might happen if the food supplies stopped coming. So far there had been no order to restrict freedom of movement within the borders of the city, but there was a limit to how much food would be issued to one sector.

The language barrier was another problem. Issmarkish officers could all speak Common, but the men often only spoke Issmarkish, and perhaps another tongue from the Issmarkish continent as in the case of the Sammoi men. Most of the adult elves spoke Common, but almost none of them spoke Issmarkish. And if someone understood neither Common nor Issmarkish, there was only one man in the entire company who could speak Allufalese. Håkan commandeered a printing press, and had Sgt. Larsson (the aforementioned man) draw up a phrasebook that would be distributed to the Troopers so they could at least give basic commands and understand relevant responses. Sgt. Larsson suggested publishing a reverse version in Allufalese as well, so that people would know the phrases troopers could understand. While these measures improved things, there was still an understandable sense of tension in the air.

It would all depend on how quickly the war ended.

++

- Fortress City Vålsungsgard, Issmark -

An ominous air hung over the Imperial Capital. The blue and white banners of the old Empire were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the great stone buildings looming overhead were draped in the red and gold flag of IKRI. The grey-clad soldiers of the Imperial Army and the SPK stood on every street corner. People hurried about their business, avoiding the eye of the IKRI troops. The once-thriving stock markets and high streets were now silent and dead, the businesses having been nationalized and the production of all luxury goods stopped. Beggars were nowhere to be seen. The government claimed that IKRI had brought a new prosperity where everyone was provided for by the State and nobody needed to beg, but no one believed that. They had seen the windowless SPK vans that slithered through the streets at night like hungry vipers, quietly rounding up the homeless and insane. The great Forge Cities once considered a world wonder now lay silent, shuttered for political reasons, and the remaining industry had an insatiable appetite for brute labor in their absence. Now the streets were immaculately clean, but there was no life or joy in them.

It was in this atmosphere that Imperial Princess Isshilda von Kurghardt II stood overlooking the Grand Harbor, observing the launch of a new aircraft carrier. A tall woman in her mid ‘20s, she cut a commanding figure in her Imperial Blue uniform with its long coat, high collar and epaulettes, bedecked in gilded cords and white leather trim. Like her father, she eschewed the crown in favor of a peaked cap of the type worn by the Imperial Guard Kommendant, perched upon silvery-blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes were icy blue, burning with an intense and piercing gaze that hid a deep sadness behind it. She stood on a balcony jutting off from the Imperial Admiralty building, flanked by her personal guard; hand-picked Imperial Guard Jägers with mirror-polished, spiked helmets and white leather webgear instead of brown.

The ship being launched below was enormous, the largest seagoing vessel yet created. Named ISS Albatross, she was the first of a new class of bomber-carriers designed to launch specialized, light bombers. The Albatross was a dedicated anti-industrial weapon, her fast and accurate planes intended to target factories that lay out of reach of mighty land-based strategic bombers like the B/302 Ragnarok. The plans for Albatross had been laid down and initial construction had started before the Forge Cities were shuttered, and her elegant lines still bore the unmistakable touch of Dwarven engineering.

Behind Isshilda, the door creaked open and the unmistakable figure of Viceroy Vengaren emerged. His tall frame was draped in a long black coat that flapped in the seabreeze, his steely eyes shining behind the golden frames of his spectacles with the sinister glee of a cat who has just swallowed the canary. She scowled briefly, but otherwise did not acknowledge him. Isshilda despised Vengaren with every fiber of her being. Her father had not chosen the man to be his Viceroy, instead Vengaren had been appointed by the RiksDag, and he flaunted the authority his Party gave him with a smugness that infuriated her. Isshilda considered him to be ruthless, unscrupulous and power-hungry, and believed he was exploiting her father’s illness to play Emperor himself. But without proof, there was nothing she could do. She didn’t think he was mad or bold enough to harm a member of the Imperial Family, but he could get at her in other ways: forbidding her from seeing her father, or firing Palace staff who were close to her. Despite her title, she felt powerless in her own home, able only to watch as her people slowly suffocated beneath the bootheel of Vengaren and his thugs in the RiksDag. The country she knew and loved had changed dramatically in the last few years. Old friends had disappeared, and men who never would have been tolerated when her father was in good health now occupied the halls of power. The future that had once seemed bright now filled Isshilda with unease and despair.

“Good afternoon, Furstinna.” The Viceroy spoke, lighting a cigarillo and expelling a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke from his nostrils. “Is she not beautiful?”

“Albatross? She is a marvel of engineering. I only wish her architect could be here to see her launched.” Isshilda said coldly.

Vengaren scowled.

“We’ve been over this.” He said, curtly. “You shouldn’t question your father’s decisions.”

“I wouldn’t, if I knew they were actually his decisions.” She shot back.

“You’ll be accompanying us on the Albatross’s maiden voyage.” Vengaren brushed past her objection.

“Do I have a choice in this matter?”

“No you do not. I intend to crush the enemy in one fell swoop, and since your father is too ill to make the journey or appear in public, I require you to accept the formal surrender.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to accept it yourself?” Isshilda mocked him.

“Believe you me, I shall have plenty of satisfaction on this trip.” Vengaren’s eyes burned. “I have waited far too long to see the high elves get what they so richly deserve.”

“I thought my father valued our people’s lives more than petty revenge.”

“Apparently you were wrong. Fire must be repaid in fire.” His voice was cold, and Isshilda almost flinched. “We leave the day after tomorrow at dawn. Be ready.”

Isshilda waited until he was out of earshot, then tilted her head towards the commander of her Guard.

“Jorgen, do we still have the pistol that Master-Engineer Stenskägg of KVF Järnholm gave me when I came of age?” She asked, quietly.

“Ja min Furstinna. It has been in the armory since your… since you stopped shooting regularly.” The Sergeant replied, stone-faced.

“Have it sent to my quarters. With a shoulder holster and a box of ammunition. I’m not setting foot on that jävla boat unless I’ve got something with a bit more authority than this silly smallsword. Don’t bother to update the armory records.”

“Ja min Furstinna. Your will be done.” Jorgen bowed, and disappeared into the building as she dismissed him.

 When she returned to the Palace, Isshilda found the pistol lying in its presentation case on her desk. Opening the case, she smiled sadly at the gleaming sidearm within. It was a P/35, the service handgun of the Issmarkish military, but with a 170mm heavy match barrel and a silver-plated finish with fine gold inlay. All Dwarven craftsmanship of course. It felt familiar in her hand and reminded her of better times. Before her father had taken ill, they used to shoot 50m Military Pistol competition against each other and some of the Guard officers. Jäger Officers were extremely skilled shooters, and her father always ordered them not to hold back. Still, she had managed to win more than once.

“Hello old friend. I’m afraid we’re not doing anything fun this time. But you’re the only thing I can trust right now.”

++