Retreat Order

Spartan ended up reading the dossier. There wasn’t much commanding for him to do when Commandant Cahill decided to take up the majority of that work. Besides, Spartan could see it on the old man’s face: worry and fear. He needed to do something. Castle Drügeldorf was their command center in the Annexed Zone, the starting point of the Zone’s liberation. Spartan actually was there when the castle was being considered. The Alkenians had ignored it, leaving the old place to be an almost forgotten landmark. They never considered its strengths: the vantage point over the east, the natural defenses of the cliffs, its mostly central location in the country. Some of those things worked against the Alliance, though, so it was understandable. Resources had to be brought in from across the lake until the tunnels were mapped out well enough. The elevator had to be outfitted from the dock below to the castle. The pillboxes were the newest feature, the start of what Spartan hoped would have been a stronger defense.

Now those boxes were smoldering heaps, the grounds out front of the castle were blown to bits, and all those caves and tunnels were now exposed if the fires weren’t still burning. It was beginning to look like the Alliance’s plan to start taking the Annexed Zone from within was a failure. While Spartan would receive some of the blame, the Commandant would receive most of it. He was leading the Alliance forces in the castle before Spartan was sent there, after all. After other stellar victories, Resturia sent Spartan and Viking to turn Drügeldorf into another such victory. Like he said before, they must have been doing something right to garner this reaction.

While the Commandant continued to stress over achieving victory, Spartan’s mind was working. The Alkenians never would have taken this approach; they didn’t have the available resources. Their soldiers were spread thin all along the front lines, helping out their own allies such as Al-Khardi and Staffel. It did beg the question: how could Al-Khardi afford such a strong presence this far north? It bothered him just as much as the Butcher did. Where was he? There seemed a level of coordination which implied the Butcher was out there somewhere.

Spartan was taking in the reports. Men descending the cliffs and heading toward the castle, using the foliage on the grounds as cover. Enemy combatants coming out of a downed Warmonger. They just got a report confirming the men from the Warmonger were on two levels. Their situation hadn’t changed, they were still just as trapped. The only difference was they were about to lose places to hide and regroup. Based on what he’d just read, this was all in character for the Butcher.

“Do we have anyone guarding the sickbay?” Sickbay was on the ground floor of the castle, and if the Khardis were there, that meant the injured were in danger.

The Commandant asked over the radio.

“We’ve got men posted there, sir.”

Good, Spartan thought. Be a shame to lose the men there. It would be an even bigger shame for everyone in the castle to become cut off from each other. That was the larger concern. If the enemy was already within the walls, the possibility was very much real. The Commandant stood by the window, looking out. Spartan, with the dossier under his arm, walked up to him. The balloon of the Warmonger could be seen. From the other windows in the tower, they could observe some of what was happening on the cliffs.

“We need to leave the tower,” he said.

The Commandant shot him a flabbergasted look. “What do you mean, ‘leave the tower’? This is our best spot to see what’s going on out there!”

“And soon it won’t be. Besides, we need to try and keep who we can together. If the Khardis manage to separate us from each other, then we’ll all be easy pickings. We need to figure out where we can consolidate ourselves and have the best chances of surviving this.”

“Perhaps we should have abandoned this place,” Cahill mused. “Saved ourselves the trouble and just focus on the fronts.”

“Nonsense. We managed something here, otherwise they wouldn’t be making such a big fuss.”

“Have you any theories?”

Spartan furrowed his brow. “Theories?”

“Why there are so many Khardis.”

“Could have just been the Butcher’s influence with their army.”

The Commandant shook his head. “Bullocks. If they needed those soldiers south, he wouldn’t have the sway to redirect them.”

Though he didn’t say it, Spartan knew what he was thinking: the situation down south may have changed for the worst. The last update they had from there was a few months old, at least. “If we survive, we’ll find out.”

“If we survive,” the Commandant murmured. “So, the order is to flee inside the castle even more?”

“It would be my order. We cannot allow ourselves to become easy targets for them. After what happened with Johan, we can assume the Butcher didn’t just grab any soldiers. He’s got some men who can keep themselves together.”

“Very well. You were in the infirmary more recent than me. How bad are the boys in there?”

“I don’t know if it’s wise to move them. A lot of them can be moved, but the front line defense took quite a beating from the planes and the Warmonger. But the sickbay isn’t exactly the best place to try and stage a defense.” Spartan’s eyes widened as an idea took hold. “But the area around it might. Send word out: we need everyone to head toward the great hall of the castle immediately. Anyone who can’t make it needs to try and stay alive.”

The Commandant relayed the command. Spartan set the dossier down on the table. He had what he needed.