The Russian Winter

Before the French even had time to react, Keitaro had gotten himself and every other Japanese present onto the Yamato.

“Keitaro, what are we doing!? You want to attack Paris!? Are you insane!? What about the alliance!?” Musashi screamed, demanding answers.

“Sorry, I’ve made my choice,” Keitaro answered flatly.

“Made your choice!?”

“Yes. As soon as we land, we’re going to war.”

Musashi was still furious, but Keitaro wasn’t paying him much mind. “Toko,” he said, looking at his sister.

“Y-yeah…!?” She was still frazzled from all this.

“I’m sorry for acting so recklessly, and doing this without asking you, but…” He sighed and gazed at Paris from the window. “They might be strong, in their own ways, but as a pair they’re weak. In Kosma, a Knight and Maiden like that have no future.”

Toko smiled and nodded, understanding completely. “Yeah.”

***

Before declaring war, Keitaro held a strategy meeting. Himself, Toko, Tokugawa, Yamashita, and Okita were all present.

“This is awfully rash, don’t you think, Keitaro?” Tokugawa was disappointed.

“You’re right, but it needs to be done.”

With a sigh, Tokugawa resigned. He knew that there wasn’t any going back. “I’ll contact London and Moscow. We’ll need their cooperation if we’re going to stand a chance, especially because we’re probably burning our bridge with New York too.”

Keitaro hadn’t even thought about the Americans, but once he was reminded, he felt a bit guilty. Still, their alliance was never an official one, and Keitaro knew in his soul that this is what would be best for Tokyo.

Yamashita cleared his throat, catching Keitaro’s attention. “I figured you’d end up wanting to attack Paris, so I started preparing an operation.” He pulled out some military plans. “We have two options: defend or attack. Going on the defensive and digging in to exhaust the French overtime seems safer, but…”

Before Yamashita could finish, Okita cut in, “If we’re going to fight Paris then we have to attack. Louis’s Ability takes a while to recharge. If we play defense, it’ll just give him more time to recover and decimate us.”

Brushing off the interruption, Yamashita continued, “I agree with Okita. It will be a fierce battle, however. Based on the intel we have, the French army and their German allies have taken most of Moscow with few casualties.“ Yamashita swept his hand across the map of Moscow, showing the land that the French had taken.

Leaning back, Keitaro thought everything over. They caught Seoul unprepared, but this time they would be fighting two armies, and while they weren’t at full strength, they were still very strong. It was risky, and if he was wrong, he’d doom not only Tokyo but Toko as well…

***

Deep below Moscow, Yuri Chekhov, the Red Knight, was hiding in a sewer like a rat. It was dark, filthy, and stunk worse than was imaginable. Being down there at all was disgusting and humiliating, but it was what had to be done to survive.

He moved over a few feet to get closer to Natalia Stashevskaya, the Red Maiden. She was concentrating hard, trying to use her Ability.

“Doing all right?” He asked her.

“Yeah…” Her breathing was heavy, and even as the air got colder, she kept sweating like a dog.

Yuri wished he could do more, but her Ability was the only thing that could save them at this point.

He backed off, giving her space to concentrate.

Beyond their own private little corner, there were troops huddled up everywhere. Most of the Russian army had gone into hiding, with the majority going underground.

Conditions were awful down here, and they were already out of food. They’d be lucky to make it a few days.

“Sir!” Clambering over was Mikhael Kutuzov, the general of Moscow.

“What is it?”

“We’ve received a message from the Japanese! They want an alliance!”

Yuri’s mouth was agape. He just couldn’t believe it. But once he truly realized what that meant, a wide smirk formed.

***

In the span of only a few minutes, a few snowflakes had developed into a fullblown snowstorm. The wind howled, snow piled up, and you could barely see two feet in front of you.

But worst of all, the temperature was dropping fast. It had hit negative forty and was going even lower.

The French army was already retreating, but they had gone too deep into Moscow, and the snow was slowing them down too much. They hadn’t prepared for winter conditions. Their men, without even proper coats, were dropping like flies from the extreme cold. If things got any worse, the entire army would fall to hypothermia.

Louis had been traveling in his own tank which he had to abandon after it broke down due to the cold. His men had managed to get him a coat, but even with that, he felt like he’d been locked in a freezer wet and naked. But one look at his men stuck in their basic uniforms made him count his blessings.

Some of the men had started panicking. Louis saw one who had dropped his rifle and started clawing through the snow, hopelessly trying to dig his way out of the cold.

Thinking over what could’ve caused this, there was really only one option. It had to have been an Ability. He cursed under his breath. To think that somebody could create a blizzard like this. His Meteor had rained down hellfire from above onto his enemies, paving the way for victory after victory, yet he had been brought to his knees by a snowstorm.

He wanted to scream, cry out in frustration, but he still had an image to maintain.

Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he squinted his eyes, trying to make out whatever he could in the distance. As long as they could escape this, they would be able to regroup. By now, Japan had surely joined and was preparing to invade Moscow. All they had to do in the meantime was survive.

Louis’s thoughts drifted to Sylvie. He knew that she would’ve closed the deal. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He trusted her with his very life, with the lives of the French people. He knew that that trust wasn’t unfounded.

He coughed hard. The cold was starting to get to him, but his mind was still filled with thoughts of Sylvie… Her smile… Her laugh… Her touch…

As the muffled sounds of gunfire rang out, he tripped, falling into the snow.

It was an ambush. Russian troops had appeared out of nowhere, firing onto the freezing, half dead French soldiers from all sides. The snow was painted red with blood and screams cut through the storm as bullets tore through them.

As the massacre raged on, Louis was picked up and carried off by his personal guard. Dragging him through the snow and over corpses, the bulk of his force was left behind in the Russian pincer.