January 15, 1641Durnsbury, Mu

Captain Vin Kessler stood at the edge of Durnsbury, watching the first light of dawn cast shadows over the city’s ruins. The air was tainted with the smell of explosives; the overnight bombing had reshaped the city into a wasteland. He felt a grim satisfaction at the sight – the might of the Gra Valkas Empire was undeniable.

Around him, Ulfar Company stood ready. They had been on edge for an hour now, anticipating the order to move out. Now, as the moment approached, a sense of purpose replaced their restlessness.

Kessler’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. “Wulfhart,” he called out to his corporal, “What’s the madar showing?”

Wulfhart looked up. “It’s cluttered, sir. The magic in the air is messing with the readings. Hard to get anything clear.”

Kessler grunted in acknowledgment. This was the challenge of fighting in a city thick with magic – nothing was straightforward. Unlike Orisun and its few stragglers, Durnsbury’s mages could pop up anywhere. “Keep an eye on it. Alert me to any changes.”

He turned to the rest of his men. The coming fight was sure to be much more brutal than their engagement in Orisun. He glanced at each one of their faces, branding them into his memory so he wouldn’t forget the fallen. He became lost in thought as he waited for the order when his radio technician approached, field radio in hand. “Captain, message coming through from Colonel Raditz,” he said, offering the radio to Kessler.

Kessler took the receiver, pressing it to his ear, listening intently to the crackling voice on the other end. The order was clear and direct, “Ulfar Company is to move in. Your objective: secure the railroad in the central district – Marrowfield. Time is of the essence.”

Kessler handed back the radio. He faced his men, who awaited his command. “Listen up. We’re moving in. Our target is the railroad in Marrowfield. We need to secure it fast.” He paced in front of his troops. “The Muans will be disoriented from the bombings, but they’re not out. They’re a cornered animal, equipped with magic and American weapons, and that makes them dangerous. Expect heavy urban resistance, traps, anything. We need to stay sharp.”

“Einar, get the scouts out,” Kessler instructed his lieutenant. “I want a clear picture of what we’re walking into.”

“Yes, sir,” the man responded, immediately setting off to carry out the orders.

Kessler took a deep breath. Marrowfield was key to controlling Durnsbury, and it was up to Ulfar Company to make the first move. He looked once more at the ruins ahead and the buzzing planes that flew overhead. “Let’s move out,” he said, stepping forward into the dawn of battle.

Thick smoke wafted into the air as they began their advance. Kessler climbed into Ulfar Company’s Kommandowagon Panthera nodding to the crew as he settled in. The interior, though cramped, was efficiently laid out with the necessary tools for command and control. A large map was secured on a fold-down table, marked with various positions and notes. The bulky radio equipment – the heart of the Panthera – crackled with the voices of other unit commanders and scouts reporting in.

Kessler peered through the periscope, a simple yet effective tool providing him with a limited view of the surroundings. He adjusted the dials, tuning into different frequencies, listening to the reports coming in.

“This is Valravn Company requesting support from any nearby units! We’re under fire at the intersection of Lanhaven and Broussard. Enemy entrenched in the Courville Museum!”

“Gungnir Company acknowledges. We are en route, ETA in 8 minutes.”

Kessler traced the roads on the map to the mentioned intersection, a crucial juncture leading into the heart of Marrowfield. He circled it, staring at the nearby roads in case he needed alternate routes.

Kessler’s right hand tightened around a pencil. Knowing that Valravn and Gungnir were already converging on the intersection of Lanhaven and Broussard, he made a quick decision. “Driver, reroute us to the eastern approach. We’ll head towards Vauxhall Boulevard. Ulfar Company will take a parallel path to the railroad. We can’t bottleneck at Lanhaven.”

The Panthera veered east, its tracks grinding against the rubble as it carved a new path through the war-torn streets of Durnsbury. Kessler peered through the periscope, surveying the new route. The eastern approach was less direct, but it offered the advantage of surprise and potentially less fortified resistance.

As they neared Vauxhall Boulevard, the radio crackled again. A voice, strained with the heat of battle, followed, “Recon Platoon 12-1 reporting heavy resistance near Jardin Park. Enemy anti-tank units are dug in, equipped with American launchers!” Suddenly, screams began to mount on the other end. “Shit, hostile mages! Get the Shafers –”

As the transmission was abruptly cut off, Kessler cursed. There was no way around Jardin Park; he had to push through there no matter what. It was one of the few open areas in the city – better than the narrow streets when it came to utilizing his Hounds and Wilders, but terribly exposed from many angles.

“Panthera to all Ulfar units,” Kessler spoke into the radio, “Prepare for engagement near Jardin Park. Shafers, advance as vanguard and conduct immediate recon on Jardin Park perimeter. Identify and relay enemy positions, especially AT units and mage locations. Hounds, maintain close support to Shafers, be prepared to engage on short notice. Wilders, position at strategic vantage points with coverage on Jardin Park; provide long-range fire support against identified threats.”

Kessler’s eyes were glued to the periscope as the Panthera rumbled alongside the Hounds, the sound of the engines mixing with the distant booms of artillery. The Shafer tanks had already fanned out ahead, their lighter frames weaving through the ruins and debris of Durnsbury’s once bustling streets. Their role was risky, but their speed and agility made them the best choice for this task. As they neared the post office to the right of the park, a sudden burst of gunfire and anti-tank fire erupted from concealed positions within the shrubbery and from surrounding buildings.

“Contact!” the radio buzzed. “Taking fire from multiple directions!”

“Hounds, engage! Engage now!” Kessler ordered, tracking the unfolding chaos. The Hounds, positioned behind the Shafers, quickly responded. Their guns roared to life as they targeted the sources of enemy fire.

The Muans, adept in urban warfare, had prepared ambushes, but the Gra Valkans’ calculated approach minimized their effectiveness. As the Hounds fired, Kessler observed the impacts. The identified positions were eliminated, but in return, a new round of anti-tank munitions met the Hounds.

Peering from his periscope, Kessler caught a glimpse of a pair of shadows hurriedly retreating from a window right before the entire side of the building was demolished by a salvo of HE shells. Damn. Their survival likely meant the demise of another tank down the road. Though he knew that some of the American munitions were single-use, he had to assume the worst.

The Shafers lit up the surrounding buildings with their machine guns, suppressing the enemy to the best of their abilities. The Wilder tanks, sitting as far away from potential ambush sites as possible, began to methodically demolish the more fortified enemy positions using their superior firepower. The Panthera, at the heart of the formation, continued to advance alongside the Hounds and Raptor APCs.

Kessler’s fingers tensed around the periscope as the Shafers nudged forward. The next attack came swiftly – a hail of gunfire from a half-ruined apartment block to their right. The Shafers swerved, returning fire with their mounted machine guns, riddling the building’s facade with holes.

Then came the deeper boom of the Hounds. They targeted the source of the gunfire, blowing chunks out of the building’s structure. A waste of munitions in the grand scheme of things, but well worth it considering the extensive supply lines they had established since their capture of Orisun. They could afford wasting shells on any probable target; they had more munitions than the Muans had men here in Durnsbury.

As the Hounds advanced, a sudden explosion rocked one of them – a direct hit from a hidden anti-tank launcher. Flames and smoke billowed from the stricken tank as a mangled crew member crawled out of the hatch before being gunned down.

“Damn it,” Kessler muttered, his mind racing. One of his Wilders swiveled its turret toward the building on the left, where the projectile originated from. One blast and half the building was taken out, parts of men flying alongside shattered bricks and wood.

They pressed on. Infantry, following the tanks, darted between cover, engaging Muan soldiers who emerged from their hiding places. The sound of small arms fire was a constant crackle. With the way this battle was progressing, not even the cotton in his ears would prevent hearing loss.

As they neared the end of Jardin Park, the landscape turned even more treacherous. Without warning, the ground beneath them churned and buckled, transforming into a viscous morass of mud. Kessler watched in alarm through the periscope as the lead Shafer tank began to sink. It attempted to get out, its tracks turning futilely. “Ambush!” he barked into the radio. “It’s a damn mud trap!”

The Hounds, trying to reverse, found themselves caught in the edges of the magically altered terrain. Trapped just as the lead Shafer was, they became easy targets. From the ruined buildings lining the street, Muan soldiers emerged, hurling makeshift incendiary devices – molotovs mixed with magic dust similar to the ones they had encountered before.

Many of the Muan soldiers were mowed down before they could toss them, but a few made it through, completely engulfing Hounds and Shafers in a sticky napalm that cooked their crews alive. The Gra Valkan infantry, losing their cover, ran away from the searing flames and exploding chasses only to get gunned down.

“Jotun Battery, this is Ulfar Company. Requesting danger close fire mission on grid Freyr Tyr six-four-nine. Confirm over,” Kessler spoke into the radio.

As he waited for a response, Kessler switched to a different frequency, one designated for coordinating with the 12th Sky Corps. “Sky Corps Command, Ulfar calling. We need immediate air support at our location. Enemy positions marked for strafing run, grid Freyr Tyr six-five-zero through six-five-two. How copy?”

“Ulfar Company, Jotun acknowledges. Rounds inbound, danger close. Out.”

“Ulfar, Sky Corps Command copies. Birds are in the air, ETA two minutes. Maintain your position and mark targets with smoke if possible. Out.”

Kessler relayed the information to his men. “All units, brace for artillery. Infantry, mark targets with smoke for air support.”

The first artillery shells whistled overheal, striking with precision ahead of the trapped tanks. Kessler felt a grim satisfaction. The Muans, scrambling under the sudden onslaught, were now on the defensive.

The distant roar of engines heralded the arrival of their air support, a sound Kessler had come to associate with the tide of battle turning in their favor. Through the periscope, he watched as a squadron of Centauri Strikers descended upon the battlefield. The air filled with the sound of a deep, resonating thrum as they dove, transitioning into a piercing, oscillating whistle as they neared the ground. Their iconic sound was both terrifying and ethereal – terrifying for the Muans and ethereal for Kessler.

They peppered the ground with 20mm, cutting off the Muan’s escape routes and shredding the unfortunate souls caught out in the street. Kessler gave a relieved smile as his men gave whoops and hollers. The Muans, now on the receiving end, were quickly realizing they’d bitten off more than they could chew.

Several buildings and entrenched positions with smoke were lit up by powerful rockets, explosions ravaging the targets with tinges of blue. Kessler raised an intrigued eyebrow. Looks like their rockets were starting to be fitted with magic gem dust. Almost as surprising was the lack of Muan countermeasures. Perhaps the Centauri Strikers were fortunate enough to take out hidden Stinger teams with their first run, or perhaps the Muans didn’t have any available anti-air at this location. With no means of fighting back, the Muans resorted to firing small arms or simply scurrying for cover.

Above, a different battle raged. Muan Marin fighters, hoping to fill the anti-air gap and save their forces below, attempted to challenge the Gra Valkans’ air superiority. Despite how horridly their biplane designs were outclassed, they still rose in defiance – a stubborn yet respectable endeavor. They didn’t even get close to the Strikers before they were swatted down by a squadron of nearby Antares conducting Combat Air Patrol. Their dogfight was laughably short; it was a display of complete aerial dominance, one that completely negated any skill on the Muan side.

With the skies cleared, the relentless assault of the Centauri Strikers continued, their presence on the battlefield emboldening the Gra Valkans. “Advance! Use the cover they’re providing!” Kessler commanded into his radio. His men surged forward, the ground no longer bogging them down.

The surviving Muans retreated, disoriented by the sudden ferocity of the Gra Valkans’ combined assault. As the pilots above finished their mission and returned to base, Kessler called out to his men over the radio. “Ulfar Company, halt advance. We’re establishing a base at Jardin Park. I want a perimeter secured immediately.”

Squadrons within Ulfar Company fanned out as men attended to their respective duties – clearing buildings, setting up communication lines, assessing casualties, and treating the wounded. The tanks formed a protective ring around the park’s perimeter while infantry swept the nearby buildings and ruins. A handful of shots here and there signaled the last of Muan resistance being rooted out.

“Get the engineers to start fortifying positions. I want heavy machine guns covering all approaches,” he continued. “And have the medics set up a field hospital in that sturdy-looking structure over there,” he pointed toward a department store that had survived the battle relatively unscathed.

The transformation of Jardin Park from a battlefield to a makeshift stronghold happened methodically. Tents sprung up while soldiers worked to salvage nearby structures as they set up the FOB. As Kessler stepped out of the Panthera to survey the progress, he could see the beginnings of what would soon be a bustling nerve center for the GVE’s operations in Durnsbury.

“We’ll rest and resupply here,” he announced to his officers. “Once we’re set, we push for Marrowfield. We’ll take that railway from those bastards by the end of the week.”