literature

Red Valkyria: Holding the Line

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Lowen stood in the trench line, shivering despite the winter uniform he wore. You never beat back the Scandinavian winters, no matter how warmly you dressed. This was especially true when you'd been forced to stand in the same trench-line for hours on end after a forced march overland. He looked up and down the line at the rest of his platoon. His unit was holding this portion of the fallback position. Somewhere up ahead, through the snow covered trees, was what remained of the Border Guards unit that his unit was to reinforce. The Scandinavian defense policy was a simple one, the Border Guard units were to delay and slow the enemy advance while the Militia and Army units organized in pre-prepared defensive positions at vital chokepoints. Once those defensive positions were occupied, the Border Guards were to draw the invaders into chokepoints such as the one Lowen and the rest of his battalion were occupying so that they could be dealt with.
Laying his automatic-rifle down on the snow, Lowen rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them. He glanced behind him at the concealed tanks. They were all but invisible under their white camouflage netting and nestled in their earthen battlements. The only hint that a casual observer would have as to what was hiding in the forest was if they noticed the protruding cannon barrels poking out of the snowy earthworks. The tanks were a comfort, from all reports; the Imperials were making heavy use of tanks to smash their way across the countryside. So having tanks sitting behind him brought a great deal of reassurance. Lowen didn't know how many tanks, walkers, half-tracks, armored cars, guns, and all manner of other weapons there were across the entirety of the line, but here with his platoon there were seven tanks which was fine by him. Of all the armored vehicles that Scandinavia employed, the tank had the best armor to armament ratio making them far more potent as far as Lowen was concerned.
Not that it really mattered, he'd let the armored corps argue over which combat vehicle was best. He was just glad that the single heavy tank supported by the four medium tanks and two light were here at all.
"Hey Lowen, wake up!"
He jumped and looked besides him to Teira.
The brunette smirked and shook her head, handing his automatic back. "Frost, the Imperials are going to be rolling through here any moment and you're staring at the tanks."
"They need to hurry up," Lowen grumbled as he checked his magazine, he currently had a forty-two rounder in, with a sound forty-two and three twenty-ones in his bandolier. Hopefully it would be enough. "I'm freezing."
"Quit complaining," she chided. "This is nothing."
"Just because you North-bred are used to all of this doesn't mean the South is too." he grumbled in response.
"Be quiet both of you," Sergeant Millinson grumbled, glaring at the pair of them. "We'll be lucky if the Imperials haven't heard your whining by now."
"Platoon," shouted the Lieutenant, all eyes turned to him. "The Border Guards unit ahead of us reports contact with the enemy, they will be here in minutes. Ready yourselves comrades!"
Thirty pairs of eyes focused forwards into the snow covered forest with weapons ready. Behind him, Lowen heard the metallic clang of tank hatches being sealed and he imagined that he heard the reassuring sound of shells being driven into barrels. Even the imagining of the sound was comforting. In the forest, the quiet was broken only by the call of a lone elk. The eerie silence that had settled over the unit blended in with their surroundings seamlessly as the minutes ticked by. All too suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of an explosion. It was followed later by the familiar sound of a walker's clanking hydraulics and the chatter of machinegun fire.
"Steady now," called the Lieutenant.
Lowen gripped the trigger of his automatic, he hadn't wanted to be assigned as one of the platoon's two auto-rifle gunners but he'd been selected because he was small. The logic was, give the important weapons to the smaller soldiers to present a smaller target. He hoped that logic held sound. Down the line, he heard Guern pull the bolt back on the platoon's machinegun down the line. In the forest the cannon and gunfire intensified and Lowen could distinctly make out the sounds of at least two walkers tramping in the snow. There was another flurry of rapid cannon fire and then the walkers burst through the tree line in a shower of snow. They walked backwards in loose formation towards the entrenchments, their ragnite radiators glowing a hot blue. There were three of them in total, all light models. Two of them were armed with light auto-cannons and machineguns while the third was armed with a heavier cannon. Just as Lowen finished appraising the three lights, the cannon armed walker let loose at some unseen target in the forest as the two others let their guns chatter away noisily. At some unseen and unheard signal, the walkers pirouetted in the snow, digging deep gouges into the ground as they revved their engines. They broke out in a full run towards the trench-line. Their awkward gait reminded Lowen of barnyard fowl, twenty foot tall steel barnyard fowl.
"Get down," shouted the Lieutenant.
No one needed to be told twice, the walkers rushed over the trenches as Lowen and his fellows huddled in their earthworks. As soon as the bipeds had rushed overhead, the platoon was up again, watching the now devastated forest. The walkers' passage had knocked most of the snow from the silent trees, and those that were still standing now shone out in various hues of gray and black. There was a low rumble now, accompanied by a high pitched whine. The sound of tank engines and treads. The sound was soon followed by the first handful of Imperial troops. Lowen found it hard to believe what he saw. They wore full metal armor, even had encased metal helmets. It looked like something out of centuries past. There was nothing old fashioned about their weapons though. As soon as the Imperials saw the line of Scandinavian infantry waiting for them, they opened fire. There was no order to return fire; the platoon just knew that was what they had to do. Years of training in school had prepared them for this moment though most had hoped it would never come.
Lowen squeezed the trigger and his automatic began belting out one shot after another. The automatic could fire faster than the standard rifle, but was slower than the machinegun, giving it a rather distinctive chugging sound when firing. The Imperials dropped into the snow and continued firing, though many of them dropped because of bullet fire rather than their own accord. Lowen raked his fire across their staggered line, pausing only to replace his spent magazine with his second forty-two. Then the enemy tanks rolled in. The Imperial tanks were a strange looking lot; the three Imperial tanks all shared the same basic design characteristic. A large hull mounted cannon, not unlike their Scandinavian opposites, with a smaller turreted cannon atop the hull. Lown licked his lips as the trio rolled out of the trees and onto the field. The Imperial infantry scrambled behind their armored brethren and began to advance behind the thick armor of the tanks, firing around the sides of them as they came.
It was then that the entrenched tanks behind the trench-line fired, before any of the Imperial tanks could do more than rake the trenches with their machine guns. The lead Imperial machine took two hits, one in the hull which punched a football sized hole in it, and a second that blew the turret clean off. The tank exploded a moment later, blowing out from the inside as its ammunition cooked off. The second tank didn't fair any better as three shots struck it, blowing it over on its side with flames billowing out of its hatch. The final tank was hit by the remaining two shells and simply ceased to exist. One moment it was there, the next it was a towering inferno. Lowen decided that it must have been struck by the heavy tank. There was no other explanation he could think of for that kind of damage. The Imperial infantry turned and began running back into the forest as the platoon fired after them.
"Down," the Lieutenant shouted again.
The three Border Guards walkers darted over the trench-line once more as Lowen hunkered down as their metal feet thundered overhead. Lowen stood again, watching as the walkers chased the Imperials into the trees. He could hear their screams as they were gunned down by their deadly metal hunters.
"Well that wasn't so bad," Teira noted offhandedly as she reloaded her rifle with a fresh clip and chambered a round. "I was expecting more."
Sergeant Millinson glowered at her. "There is more, can't you hear it?"
Lowen listened, and sure enough he heard the sounds of fighting in the distance, the other platoons would be engaging their targets now. He wondered if they'd have as much success as his unit had. He stopped, frowning, was that a whistle he heard?
"Mortars," shouted Millinson, "down!"
The Sergeant put action to words as he flattened out in the trench. Teira and Lowen joined him along with the rest of the platoon as the first shells landed around the trench. Earth, snow, and rock were kicked into the air, joining the rain of deadly ordnance falling down around their heads. Each impact against Lowen's helmet sounded like a dinner bell and his ears rung like church bells. The noise of the barrage was deafened by an earth shattering explosion just to his right and he felt horror grip him as he imagined the top of the trench collapsing in on him. As suddenly as the barrage had begun, it lifted and the platoon picked itself up.
"Sound off," Millinson called.
"Logarson," Teira responded as she shook the debris from her helmet.
"Svelden," Lowen coughed as he spat out a mouthful of dirt and snow.
The rest of the platoon sounded off, no one was dead or seriously injured. Lowen turned to look behind him and felt his heart sink. One of the medium tanks was on fire. A shell had pierced its weaker upper armor. That had been what had shook the earth so violently near the end.
"Here they come again," someone yelled.
Lowen turned, and sure enough the Imperials were attacking once more. As he resumed firing, he wondered where the three Border Gurads walkers were but he didn't dwell on that long as an unseen Imperial tank fired from behind the tree line, blowing up one of the light tanks. The remaining tanks answered the attack and Lowen heard the sound of rounds hitting metal, followed by an explosion. At least they'd gotten the bastard.
Besides him, Teira shouted over the sound of the firefight. "This warm enough for you Southerner?"
He ground his teeth and nodded, ejecting his magazine and slamming in a fresh one, yes this was warm enough.
I originally imagined this as part of a larger story based on a combination of the games Ring of Red and Valkyria Chronicles. However since that story never developed, I simply began writing scenes such as this about the combat in the north.
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