Dawson Base, Mu

Dusk fell over the desert landscape, bringing an end to the scorching heat of the midday sun and ushering in a new, chilly atmosphere. Clouds consolidated, blocking the moon’s light and providing a light drizzle to the parched ground below. All living creatures along the desert surface rejoiced that their drought had come to an end – all except for one.

“Fuckin’ rain,” a Gra Valkan operative muttered, his tone conveying clear annoyance.

“Fuckin’ rain indeed, Lornz,” another man said with a rather grateful tone. “Less visibility for the enemy is a positive for us,” he said, using an infrared scope mounted on his sniper rifle to scan the base.

A large bright blotch came into view, surrounded by smaller, rectangular shaped blotches. While letting his partner peer into the main base with standard binoculars, he focused on the outlying vehicles, which were obscured by darkness and illuminated only by the heat of their engines and systems. He also spotted dozens of individuals roaming the desert by themselves, likely patrols or men armed with handheld launchers. He ignored them, since the hypothetical maximum altitude for these smaller weapons were about 10,000 feet, less than half of the height that their bombers would usually fly at.

The trucks however were a threat, and he marked down their grid locations in his notebook. He identified a total of twelve trucks scattered around in the desert. It was difficult to identify the missile cells themselves due to the poor resolution at this distance, but it didn’t matter – the Eighth Army had more than enough artillery to strike all the positions. After marking down the positions of all twelve trucks surrounding the base, he analyzed the surrounding wilderness. Aside from the city of Kieleski itself, there were no other anti-air platforms to worry about.

Having completed his job, he checked in with his partner. He looked to his left and whispered at his comrade, who was still eyeing the base. “Lornz, have you found anything?”

“Yeah, Tolsen. I’ve identified four more launch platforms inside the base, as well as some standard anti-air flak cannons,” Lornz replied. His face then shifted, revealing uncertainty. “Although, I’m not sure what these are,” he said, handing the binoculars over to Tolsen and pointing at a specific area near the center of the base. “They’re covered by some sort of tarp; it’s hard to see what’s underneath.”

Tolsen took the binoculars and aimed it where Lornz was pointing. Sure enough, he saw the silhouettes of two contraptions under tarp, barely visible under the base’s lighting. “They’re right at the front door of that hangar. They don’t look like aircraft though, and there’s probably more of those things further back in that hangar.”

“It’s hard to tell from here, from this angle. Shall we get closer?” Lornz asked.

“Hmm,” Tolsen hummed, thinking of a response while he looked around the base once more. He scanned the outer walls, but found nothing out of the ordinary. There were trenches and barbed wire, supported by fortified bunkers and anti-tank emplacements behind them. The rear of the base – that is, the side closest to the Malmund Mountain Range – was spacious and contained airfields. “It’ll be impossible to tell unless we infiltrate the base itself. Let’s report this back to command for now.”

“Alright then,” Lornz said with a bit of skepticism in his voice.

Sensing doubt in his partner’s tone, Tolsen reassured him, “They’re probably more anti-tank guns. In any case, they’re nothing to worry about since they’ll be wiped out once our bombers make their run.”

Lornz nodded, believing in Tolsen’s words. “Right then. Let’s get back to base.”

—-

Fourth Armored Division Forward Camp

50 miles from Dawson Base

The midnight desert saw the rain subside as the clouds began to part, revealing the moon’s faint light. The only creatures to roam the surface were the few nocturnal creatures native to the Malmund Desert and the guards posted along the perimeter of General Flats’ base. Amidst relative silence, the sound of motorcycles revving and the sight of flashing strobe lights appeared along the road toward Kielseki.

Recognizing the strobe pattern, the perimeter guards quickly identified the two motorcyclists as scouts sent out prior and let them into the base. They slowly drove up to a hastily erected command tent, where Flats was patiently waiting outside. Lornz and Tolsen disembarked from their vehicles and saluted their commanding officer, “Sir!”

“Report,” Flats said, getting straight to the point.

Tolsen began with his report, pulling out his notebook, “We discovered twelve potential launch platforms in the desert surrounding the base, as well as four more located inside the base itself. Their coordinates are listed here.” He handed the notebook to Flats’ aide.

Lornz continued, adding the unknowns that he took note of, “We also located several unknown platforms located inside the base. They were covered by tarp and slightly hidden within a hangar. We were unable to accurately identify these, but we assume them to be more anti-tank guns or flak cannons.”

General Flats took interest in this new information. As an extremely cautious commander, he couldn’t help but feel wary about this unknown. “Have you marked the coordinates for this hangar as well?”

“Yes, sir,” Lornz replied.

“Very well,” Flats nodded. He turned to his aide, “Mark those coordinates for our artillery. That hangar may just be storing additional guns, but I’d rather not take any chances. Ensure that the Eighth Army correspondents know that.”

“Of course, sir,” the aide said before running off to relay Flats’ orders.

Flats returned his attention back to the two scouts, “You boys have done a mighty fine job locating their anti-air. Go on and get some rest; tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

—-

October 1, 1640

20 miles from Dawson Base

Heavy armor trampled the light vegetation that grew along the desert, treads crushing anything unfortunate to be caught underneath. The tide of Gra Valkan metal kicked up a massive dust storm, manifesting an ominous sight that truly represented the Fourth Armored Division. Yesterday, the Muans enjoyed calm. Today, they are going to be subjected to a raging storm of thunderous artillery strikes and bombing runs.

Hundreds of tanks were joined by hundreds of light vehicles and artillery units, forming the most fearsome land force the Gra Valkan Empire had to offer. Despite this overwhelming power, Flats still maintained utmost caution. His level of wariness was so significant that he had deployed dozens of planes to get an accurate picture of the battlefield, as well as spread his troops in such a manner that they wouldn’t become immobilized in the event of a Muan counterattack. The ambush on his forces in Alue had left a scar on his record and taught him a valuable lesson – one he imprinted onto his very soul.

“We’re twenty miles out, sir!” One of Flats’ aides reported to him.

Flats nodded. “Excellent. Have the Sixteenth Air Wing begin preparations. Once we reach the 15 mile range, we shall make use of our enhanced Evergreen artillery and eliminate the enemy’s air defense network.”

Flats felt satisfied that his plan was coming together, even forming a slight smile on his face. However, this smile was quickly wiped away by a sudden whistling coming from the skies above. An ominous chill went down his spine, followed by the near-rupturing of his eardrums and the trashing of his body inside his command vehicle.

He instinctively covered his head with his arms, getting below the windows as he braced against the devastating impact that had narrowly missed his vehicle. His ears rang, but he quickly regained composure and looked out the dirt-splattered window. Outside, he saw the burning hulk of a heavy field artillery gun as well as the ruins of the vehicle towing it. Inspecting his immediate surroundings, he noticed that more vehicles were damaged, but none ruined beyond use.

On the other hand, the front line – which consisted primarily of motorcycle units traveling in tandem with tanks from the Fourth Armored Division – continued their march unscathed. It dawned on Flats that the enemy not only had artillery that outranged his own, but also had the ability to accurately target his own artillery units in the rear lines. The prospect – no, fact that the Muans had such weapons was one that he hadn’t anticipated.

Thinking back to yesterday’s report from the two scouts, he realized that this advanced artillery must have been what was hiding in that hangar. Advanced as they were though, he also recognized the fact that the Muans only had four of them, judging by the number of impacts that had just struck his forces. Just then, he heard the sounds of more whistling.

Calculating the seconds between each volley, he found that the enemy artillery pieces had a similar rate of fire to that of his own units. Estimating a rate of fire of 4 rounds per minute, he opted to push in toward the enemy rather than retreat. If his forces continued traveling at their current rate of 20 miles per hour, his artillery could reach firing position within 15 minutes. This meant that the enemy could launch about 60 shells at his forces, and that was a risk he was willing to take.

Having decided on his strategy, he gave orders to his men, “All units, continue forward and get within firing range! Commander Breggt, your artillery units are the main target of the enemy’s attack, so ensure that as many of them as possible survive for our counterattack! All air units, maintain distance from enemy air defense network and continue to provide battlefield updates! Find out where those shots are coming from!”

More shells rained down upon the charging Gra Valkan forces. Now aware of the Muan attack, they hit the gas and maneuvered as best they could to close the distance and retaliate. Shells landed with near-pinpoint accuracy, annihilating at least one vehicle per volley and damaging a multitude of others. Nevertheless, even in the face of nightmarish fear, the Gra Valkan forces were spurred onward by the light at the end of the tunnel. They braved a painstaking 15 minutes of helplessness, suffering the same fate as fish in a barrel until finally, they were able to retaliate.

“Sir, the positions of enemy artillery have been transmitted to Commander Breggt’s units via manacomm. They’re preparing to fire now!” A communications officer reported.

Even though they had finally clawed their way into a position where they could fight back, the worst still wasn’t over. Having stopped in order to prepare their weapons, Breggt’s artillerymen were prime stationary targets for Muan artillery. As more shells came hurtling down, all Flats could do was pray for those who had been sentenced to certain death.

Four explosions ravaged Breggt’s men. Four crews were entirely gone, stripped of their opportunity to even fight back, let alone go back to their families. As unfortunate as their deaths were, their sacrifices had opened up opportunities for others. Out of 50 Evergreen units, 40 survived. Now, these remaining 40 could avenge the deaths of the other dead crews, as well as those operating other vehicles.”

40 heavy field howitzers unleashed their fury at the enemy, saturating the marked positions with enough volume to make up for their inferior accuracy. The enemy responded in kind, firing back in order to destroy as many Gra Valkan units as they could before ultimately perishing. The long-range battle was over in a fraction of the time it started. One volley was all it took to devastate the outnumbered Muan forces, with another volley for good measure.

After receiving confirmation of the destruction of Muan artillery via plane, Flats gave the order to target the air defense network. Feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted off his body, he relaxed into his seat and smiled at the ceiling. “This is General Flats to Sixteenth Air Wing,” he spoke into the radio, “Give those Muans hell.”