Plan of Defense

“My people have a saying,” Spartan said. “A good defense is a good offense.”

“Wise words,” Commandant Cahill hummed.

“It’s obvious we won’t outlast even one Warmonger. Even if our defenses out front are effective, the enemy will probably aim for them first. If they find Viking’s cut on the one in Älgenhul, then we’ll have two to deal with. Strike first and hard with no mercy. I fear we will have to employ such a defense.”

“Once our spotters see them, we’ll know the trajectory. That should give us what we need to, as you say, ‘strike first and hard.’”

Spartan snapped his fingers. “The planes.” Every Warmonger had two detachable fighter planes. “Those could be sent ahead to deal with any prepared offensive.”

“We’d still spot them. The advantage stays with us.”

Snap. “They’re far more agile than the Warmongers. The mortars will be effectively useless for them. The guns will depend entirely on the gunners’ skills.”

“With the amount of gunfire, the sky will be full of bullets. That’s not exactly prime airspace.”

Snap. “That still won’t cover every last bit of the airspace. They also can’t be easily pointed in the direction of the mountains. Not with those sandbags in the way. That leaves an opening for the enemy.”

Cahill tapped a map of the castle. “What about the towers?”

“Those would give a good view of the mountains. Although, they would still be less armed than the front.” Snap. “Pyrosuits. Viking mentioned they had those up in Älgenhul. There’s enough foliage on the other side of the mountains, I bet you anything that’s their plan to deal with a retreat of our boys.”

“Would they know about the tunnels, though? Even I discounted them as a bit of local folklore when we first got stationed here.”

“It’s folklore all the locals know about. Even if it’s not true, it would still be based on something. I don’t think the Butcher would take the chance, not from what I’ve heard about him. I know I wouldn’t.”

Cahill’s brow furrowed. “So our retreat is no longer viable.”

“Not necessarily. The tunnels are so expansive, there’s bound to be an area they miss. We just won’t know for sure where until they light up the mountains. It’s also possible they may have a contingency for that. If they decide to bomb us from the front, they’d still have some left over. They could also still store a decent number of bombs in the Älgenhul ship, even with the Pyrosuits.”

“That’s assuming they can send both our way.”

Spartan nodded. “True. Until we see them, we won’t know how deep we are. However, the Butcher’s not going to let a blown-up blimp stop him. Any survivors will be marched up to the castle’s back door. If Alkenia wanted him to clear us out, that’s what he’ll do. Or he’ll die trying.” Snap. “An ambush. Viking and the Berserkers could be sent to stage an ambush for him. If we cut off the Khardis’ head...”

“The body may follow suit. It’s also still possible they may continue their assault. As you said, the Butcher is thorough. I doubt he wouldn’t be prepared for his death.”

Spartan sighed. We could all retreat now and live. It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed his mind, but he pushed it away. To flee the fight was the coward’s way. The people of his namesake were not cowards. He was not a coward. Castle Drügeldorf was important to the Alliance, it was their foothold there. They couldn’t lose it. Alkenia couldn’t be allowed to completely wipe out resistance in the continent. The Drügeldorf outpost was already cut-off from the rest of the Alliance. If they could manage to defend the castle against the Butcher, they might just get an opening to cut a path back to the homeland, to re-establish that connection. After that, the rest would be easy.

But what’s the point if I’ll never hold her again? I want to live, damn it! Why do I have to be stuck in this suicidal post? More intrusive thoughts to ignore.

Cahill watched Spartan as he meandered to the portrait of Elijah Drügeldorf still adorning the room. Spartan stared at it. He lost count of how many stories he’d been told of the honorable and noble Drügeldorf. There was only one option: they had to win. His thoughts once more turned to Crusader. What purpose did a little metalhead punk have in a world like this?

Snap. “We need to know more about Crusader. We need to find out why he’s here.”

“To be a nuisance,” Cahill declared. “That boy does not fit here, and if anything he’ll prove to be a liability. We should send him to Jürgenstag, get him out of the way.”

“Get him out of the way,” Spartan repeated. “Viking didn’t really fit when he came. He was never a soldier. By your logic, we should send Viking with him.”

Cahill frowned at him. “Viking has proved himself as one.”

“At the Battle of Kurle. We need to see if Crusader can prove himself here, at the enemy’s assault on Drügeldorf.”

“The situation is completely different,” Cahill argued. “Not as much rested on Kurle as here.”

“No, not much,” Spartan said calmly. “Just our foothold on the Western Front.”

Cahill said nothing.

“Crusader stays. And I want a full debrief from Calhoun for the day. We don’t have a lot of time. They know we know about the Warmongers. They will not wait longer than absolutely necessary.”

“How long do you think?”

“A day. If we’re lucky.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” the old man muttered.

“We need to set up spotters on the mountain. We need a clear view of the Khardis’ approach from the North.”

“Agreed.”

“I also want Calhoun’s boy, Sanders, to get us a proper map of the tunnels.” Spartan tapped a pile of papers. “We’ve relied too much on the existing fragmented maps. We need something more concrete. We have to find whatever they may miss. Give him whatever he needs to complete the job. He’ll have until midnight.”

“Anything else?”

“Pray.”