A bombardment had begun on the city and its violence was indiscriminate. The people who had just returned to the coziness of their homes were struck by a hellish awakening. In the seconds they were alive, their flesh were charred clean from bone. But there were no screams. Shells landed in the river and on land, and it was clear that the enemy had no specific target in mind. They were simply there to wreak havoc and cause devastation, bringing wrath upon the populace and its dense garrison. The men with their horses crawled out of the crater beside the entrance, their steeds torn and their bodies halved. The smell was disgusting, more striking than the image that was fed into their eyes. In the distance, Arminius saw that the wall had already fallen and its guards had been slain, surrounded by the Rus who raised their flags and banners of a certain house that was too far to be made out. The gate had been captured and there was an inpour of cavalry and infantry in masses, slaughtering those in the town on the opposite bank. Its garrison may have retreated to the bridge, defending the largest chokepoint into the city center, but the people were lost. Those who remained were unlikely to flee as war steadily advanced to their doorsteps.
A messenger burst into the chamber, wounded from head to feet, his face in the blood of his comrades that stained the stone floor as he limped. “General!” He cried for his immediate attention.
“What is the situation?” Florian marched around the general’s desk, crushing the shards of glass littered beneath him.
It seemed the battle had begun a while ago judging from this soldier’s wounds, and it was just that none in the headquarters seemed to have noticed when the assault began. As Warneńczyk rose from the protection of his men, the realization that the city was hours away from its inevitable fall struck his officers scrambling to clear their desks.
There, the messenger was a testament to the truth that their army was ill-equipped to fight a battle in the streets. “The town of Sedingost has fallen and our walls have been taken.” Dropping to his knees, he was helped up by Julien. “Our engineers have been slain, we are unable to destroy the bridge in time.” The loyal soldier delivered his report instead of taking the chance to flee, but then did he come to terms that the latter may have been the better choice after all.
“Without the bridge, the city…” Arnau froze, like every other soldier present who turned to the general for advice.
Shaken, Siegfried approached his sergeant. “Does that mean we have to fight them?” The boy looked up to Arminius who he trusted as much as he did Arnau.
However, Arminius’s eyes were too fixed on the invasion unfolding before him and he could not provide an answer himself. The headquarters, upon hearing of their failed defense, was in chaos. They swept their plans apart and put their hard-produced reports to the torch with whatever means necessary, smashing lamps and throwing candles into buckets and bins, pits of fire and ash raged. The scent of a deforested woodland burned through the hall, reaching the general who was known for often being calm rather than being flustered. But his indecision weighed him in the direction of panic. Knowing that his elderly self was a sign of stability in his ranks, he moulded his beret tighter on his head and turned about, seemingly with a plan. He waved the messenger away who Julien helped to stand. The agent of ill news thanked the corporal and continued his way towards the exit, alone, restraining his energy. As he was dismissed from the general’s office, a squad of corporals and sergeants rushed across the balcony, skidding along the floor when they reached the entrance. At the turn, from there, they saw their officers burning everything that they had fought for, and the outraged few attempted to break into the headquarters without permission. But two guards alone managed to hold them back, although it was no easy fight as one battled them like a wild boar.
Placing a hand on Adam’s shoulder, Warneńczyk notified his adjutants, “Skowroński, Florian.” Recovered from his brief blankness, he commanded as stalwartly as ever, “Rally the men and defend the old town, the avenue must not be lost.”
The adjutants clicked their heels and made off at haste. Their wounds were showing but it would not deter them from their task. Marching together, the colonel was quick to discuss his strategy to his junior who did his best to listen, and though it took no more than a second for Florian to draft up a plan in his mind, he seemed confident enough that he could stave off the Confederates’ advance. But there were those who remained without orders. Julien returned to Arminius’s side, left to confront the general for themselves.
His old eyes turned towards the sergeant but there was hesitation in him as he peered down at the shards of glass on his desk, troubled by the face he saw in his. “Reichner, I would pray that you know not to abuse power.” Pausing, he pressed his fists against the table and leaned forward. “However, my intuition has hardly ever been wrong.” said Warneńczyk, making Arminius aware of the trust he had placed in him.
Arminius felt his entire body brace naturally before the general who had yet to speak his command or demand any soldierly behavior. But after all he had seen, the youthful spirit that had not waned despite the face of defeat haunting him every night, he found it hard to retreat from his decision.
“I designate you lieutenant-elect.” Warneńczyk granted him a temporary promotion that came as a surprise even to Arminius. “Gather whatever troops and civilians you can find near the western gate and flee, you will be one of five forces I intend to evacuate.” His order held reason but it may not be as transparent as the boys thought.
The general glanced over to the squad, barred from entry, as those restless could do no more than to stand idly by. Pacing about, they wondered what the general and their comrades were conversing about, but it was on a matter they were not yet capable of dreaming.
Returning to his lieutenant, Warneńczyk spoke in a grave manner, “Continue west and you will reach a crossing on the River Tschrawen,” His every word popped with severity, making sure that this order would be engraved into his soldier’s head. “But, under no circumstances are you to cross it, understood?” He underlined the forbidden action but did not go as far as to explain the reason or consequences of doing so.
Arminius gathered himself in stillness and locked its words in his mind, but there was another issue his commander had not addressed. “What about you, general?” He asked.
With a chuckle like that of always, it seemed to have alleviated some of the sense of dread in him. “Don’t you worry, these wrinkles are the scars of my experience.” Warneńczyk proudly assured, rubbing his forehead of creases.
The bitterness in their heart had fled from retreating when their allies shed blood for their survival. For everyone, they had to assume that whatever duty that befell them was for the betterment of the army as a whole. Arminius and Julien braced up, carrying this thought, and saluted. They spun around and hurried away, recalling Arnau and Siegfried to be by their side. As the headquarters’ guards gave way, the remainder of their comrades greeted them briefly, but their reunion had long been soured by battle. Julien explained, for their curiosity and knowing, what was to be done. The squad’s members listened and discovered that there was one among them who has soared above their own ranks since their last meeting. Their eyes were easily with envy, but as easily, they were glad for him. Like a child who could not hold back a smile whenever his friends teased him, his commandership had been confirmed and no longer were the eleven threatened by the possibility of discord when one voice had become absolute. However, it was quiet then, contemplating his orders that fell into his hands just a minute ago. Although he could discern Warneńczyk’s doing to be one of reducing the problems of shared leadership, he did not understand why he was chosen and not any other. As the squad were led away by their lieutenant, a sergeant had kept himself by the entrance, watching his grandfather who brooded alone. It took Lev to drag him away from sight otherwise, he would not have moved in fear of what the general intended to do.
Warneńczyk lifted his hands from his desk and looked over his shoulders, warily. When he turned towards the window, the crisp air straightened out his mind and cooled his blood. He gazed out into the city of Seding that had been turned into a pot of bloodbath as the sweat of soldiers condensed into a veil of mist that was settled over the ringing of clashing steel. Cries were projected through the fire and smoke that tore through the ravaged streets. As the enemy prepared to charge across the bridge, the defenders braced themselves in a column. Beneath his nose, there was Adam arranging his troops and coordinating their defense along the riverside, providing covering fire from the bank for those retreating. Further along the river, Florian had summoned the elites and veterans, placing them at every street turning and chokepoint to ambush the foe wherever they could. It was to be a harsh fight that was destined, for the Aelon, to result in ruin and defeat. But when failure became an inevitability, the general knew his men would seek to cause as much harm as they could before they fell.
When the fog cleared for a moment, the wall came into his view. A sizable flag waved over the burning colors of the alliance and Krakau. Its coat of arms was unmistakable. There were three independent sigils of mythical creatures surrounding the center dominated by a curled leviathan representing its children. One was of the land, one was of the sea, and one was of the air. They were the colors of a family that had become an unstoppable blight to their enemies.
Laying his hands flat along the window sill, Warneńczyk was no stranger to their flag. “Radilov, quite the son you have.” The general scoffed, for the heavens to relay his compliment. “But allow this old man to be his adjudicator.” As shells rained around the veteran who had seen worse storms, a chilling draft sped alongside the Confederate’s charge.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUneO52HMVZ
