Chapter 629 – Red Mountain Antworks
If we were in the game of half-measures, we would be in the game of Empire. It is that simple. There are no half measures in this land. Whether it is a case of holding the line or whether it is a case of breaching theirs. Make them overturn every mountain, for we shall overturn theirs. Make them drain every ocean, for we shall drain theirs. Make them spill every last drop of blood, for we shall spill every last of ours.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are playing a game of Empire with entire worlds at stake. Raise your bet and call their bluff. You can only gain, a hero’s death that will be remembered through aeons to come, or a victory so complete and annihilating that it will put an end to the idea of warfare as an existential threat.
Tartarus has come to turn our world into another dominion of their filthy domain.
They shall find only a grave ready for them.
Arda will be their final tombstone.
- Speech given by Goddess Paida, of Rancais, aired on Rancais24.
“Zoom in on the northern front.” General Ekkerson said from his command bunker. Colloquially, it was the command bunker, officially, it was Mountain-Bunker-421. Colloquially, it was the northern front, officially, was a full one hundred kilometres from the where the mountains had once reached. In the matter of a month, more than two hundred peaks had been melted. More than a hundred bunkers had been retreated from. More than a thousand miles of tunnels had been melted through.
The initial retreat had cost the Imperial Army in Kirinyaa a tenth of its forces in the span of a week. Now, things had settled down. Ekkerson looked up at the screen of the stone bunker and leaned forward, he felt like an old man, totally out of his depth, when he was forced to hover over certain regions with a computer mouse. At this point, the bunkers had stopped being adorned with decoration or anything of the like. The most human touch they would have would be a handprint engraved by a mage in the wall, or a slab of concrete in which an engineer had drawn in a pattern. Rarely did anyone stick the names of loved ones anymore, not when the mountains weren’t permanent anymore.
The screen finally loaded as the Northern Front, ever-changing though it was, was focused upon. The map updated every ten minutes, what that meant was that another marker for a summit would disappear. It wasn’t a perfect method, some mountains had five peaks along a ridge, others had a flat top which was a summit a kilometre wide. But a map had to be abstracted since there was no satellite vision for another hundred kilometres south.
A ten-by-ten sector loaded, letters vertically, numbers horizontally. That was standard procedure, every general was used to Kassandora’s style of field maps. Ten-by-ten klick squares would be drawn over an image. Marvel of technology frankly, how the system worked to Ekkerson was as easily understood as dark magic. He hovered over one of the squares and clicked.
He wished he didn’t when the screen turned black. The map had been out of date.
Sector C4: No Camera Available: 0 Summits Remain.
Private Helenski looked through the small opening in the bunker. Outside was the darkness of an Arda he had almost given his life a dozen times to, in an attempt to merely slow the tide that was coming to submerge it. He would give his life for the world, but he would not throw it away. Helenski swallowed the MisseM tablet, it would take a good minute to kick in, but that was enough time to prepare and run the final checks on the machine gun he had been tasked with operating.
Machine gun, rifle, mortar, rifle, now back to a machine gun. It sat on a tripod, behind a thick layer of concrete. Men were to his left and right, a Cleric in dark clothes, besmirched entirely by ash, pressed his hand to his back and quickly sped up the digestion of the MisseM pill. Helenski felt his eyes go wide, he saw the ghosts brought on by fatigue disappear for a moment, his hands finally settled and he was able to load the belt of ammunition into the gun.
Luckily, the Melting had passed them over, instead it was dealing with the mountain to the north-west. A grand pillar of flame that rose to breach Ashen Skies, stone in the immediate area was turning to magma. Whereas the worst part was the fact that it was an effective, almost untouchable way to push through the mountains, a close contender was the sheer amount of light and heat it put out. Helenski found himself wishing for a cool Doschian winter more often than not at this point. Ashen Skies were usually cold, and the heat from that pillar of smiting was enough to make every soldier holding a rifle through the bunker’s shooting slit take off their thick coats.
But the light was the worst. It had been better when Tartarus marched in the darkness and used only torches to illuminate their path. That at least left the scale to the imagination and his imagination was far less grand than reality. Approaching them was were enough demons to make up several divisions just through their sheer numbers. There had to be at least twenty thousand there. Helenski leaned back and looked through the iron sights of the machine gun.
They had been proper scopes and red-dots, up until a week ago. At this point though, it was easier to abandon the guns and bring new ones when the Melting finally decided to push them out. Helenski aimed into the general mass of demons, uncaring of what sort of creature he aimed at exactly. It didn’t matter. All of them would split him open. All of them died when enough lead pierced their bodies.
Captain Ashanko, a native Kirinyaan drafted from Nanbasa, gave the order. “FLOODLAMPS!” At the end of the line of men, one of the troops flicked a switch. The mountain had some name, although it was nothing memorable. It was just another numbered rock at the end of the day. Floodlamps would blind the demons for a few minutes, until enough fire finally slammed into them to crack them. Helenski’s fingers itched over the trigger, he wanted to unload into that writhing, approaching mass of black armour and crimson skin immediately.
Ashanko gave the order. “OPEN FIRE!”
Sector C5: 26 Cameras Available: 3 Summits Remain.
Artilleryman Niqimba loaded another shell into the back of a new artillery piece. A Scorpion apparently, produced in Kirinyaa and named after the insect thanks to its long gun. “HOLD!” In the distance, climbing over the mountains, Niqimba saw the Melting slowly grow as another mountain was swiftly being reduced to nothing more than magma. Towards the north, another Melting was already going on. Gunshots from the other side of the mountain echoed down the valleys and ravines between them to make an overlapping sound of a mad drummer who just been let off the leash.
Tartarus worked in a pattern. Those long lines of mages would stay far away, out of direct line of fire and protected by at least five times their number in magicians which evaporated anything slung at them into a faint mist. Artillery volleys had to be utterly overwhelming, maybe the shells simply flew through the air too slowly. The shells would be cooked in real time, bullets would be turned to slag.
A few times, success had been scored. Enough artillery would overwhelm them. Right now, they were hoping on that. Five different units had been conglomerated towards the sector to save a mountain that once had been a command bunker, but now only sat with the most skeleton of crews of men who wanted the eternal night and the foul air brought on by Ashen Skies to end at this point.
It was said that a soldier in Ekkerson’s army would live two weeks or forever. Those who managed to find a way to cope with the eternal air, the permanent darkness, the schedule, the eternal retreat, would last through anything. Those who did not would eventually volunteer to stay near the frontlines until the Melting got to them. Ekkerson had no shortage of volunteers.
The thought had passed through Niqimba’s mind several times already. He pushed it away and coughed he shifted the heavy shell into position and pulled down a handle which closed the gun. High technology was worthless at this point, Kirinyaa’s arms factories, the first in the Empire, needed to produce anything and everything they could.
He remembered the glory of the Reclamation War as the crew in the front of the vehicle calibrated the turret. He remembered the victory against the White Pantheon Peacekeeping Force when that had come as the supports of the Scorpion pushed further into the battered ash around them. He remembered the feeling when he saw Uriamel’s great titan be slain by beasts which could not go through the Ashfront at this point as he took a step back.
And he imagined how glorious it would be when these Ashen Skies would finally be torn down. He would live forever. One hundred and twenty different guns fired over the mountain, in some hope that they would hit their targets. He watched the pattern of Ashen Skies shift slightly, as blue holes were poked through it. It was daytime outside then.
He saw the shells poke holes through the ash on re-entry through the clouds. They dragged some of the material down. And he saw them begin to pop in mid-air as flames rolled out to incinerate them to nothing more than a hot steam.
Sector D3: 5 Cameras Available: 1 Summit Remains.
Antworks had been a funny term at first. Battlemage Hektor idly ran the word through his mind as he waved his stave in front of himself once again. It was a lovely term in fact. The ground before him opened up. He was an ant, a Doschian mage, like most of the magicians in Ekkerson’s army. The Kirinyaans had a National College of Magic set up, the first batch of fresh blood would come from there eventually although they had no Goddess to train them and the only mages who could be spared where a small troop, barely thirty in total, from Ekkerson’s army.
Combat engineers ran past Hektor with wires as the topaz on the end of his staff continued to be a torch in this lightless tunnel. They unwound long coils of wire. A few hammered nails into the walls from which lights would hang. Those men were a blessing in themselves. Most of the engineers had taken to just setting up simple tripods for the equipment that would be lost anyway.
Hektor closed his eyes and waved his staff, the tunnel split in two. He had mastered this art now, the stone here was like his clothes. He had even gotten used to how it could shift and what to do when ever he came across a rich vein of ore. Iron and tin and copper, he could just dig through. Gold and rare metals, if they were pure enough, would be easier to go around in.
Hektor reached the edge of his power and popped open another MisseM as he marched to the end of the corridor. He was the head ant in this section of the Antworks. The rest of his team, five mages in total, would be tasked with making the storage rooms, the barely-used barracks for rest and recovery and the bunker emplacements on the outside. He was just to be a good little ant and dig. He would march to the end of the corridor as the engineers switched on another section of tunnel with their cold, white, lamps, and then he would restart.
Antworks was no longer a funny term. It was a way of life. Battlemage Hektor spun his staff in a circle, the topaz on its end glowing bright, as he made another fifty feet of space for the men. More floors would have to be constructed, although the number had already dropped. The mountains that didn’t anymore had fifteen levels to them. These ones would have three. Hektor tried not to think on why that was. He knew the reason, he just pretended to himself that he was too stupid to realise it. He lowered his staff and watched engineers run past him and unfurl more wires.
And so, as mountains were lost further north, the ants continued to dig.
Sector E3: 9 Cameras Available: 2 Summits Remain.
“Back back back!” Private Likkom put the tank into full reverse and slammed his foot down onto the gas pedal. The huge beast lurched backwards, the entire crew inside was shaken about, rocking back and forth, as flames exploded against the vehicle’s front armour and then shot forwards. The commander shouted again. “LOAD!”
Behind Likkom, Wani stuffed groaned as he stuffed another shell into the barrel. A lever pulled it shut, Likkom followed the next order and stopped the tank. He took a moment even though his mind was racing like a cheetah under the influence of the MisseM pulls to look through the visor. Between the two mountains, a Tartarian horde had managed to seize ground. Tens of thousands of demons had exhausted the defender’s ammunition, a general retreat had been called, retaking troops had been called in.
Just because Tartarus was burning mountains away did not mean that the Imperial Army in Kirinyaa would give the rocks up without a fight. They would be forced to turn every piece of jagged stone here into molten slag, or they would not take the mountains whatsoever. Likkom just had the unfortunate job of being part of the Retaking Division for this sector. Another tank rolled forwards by the side of his, its cannon fire, the smaller gun on top unleashing lead into the river of demons that had been caught in the valley.
Armoured cavalry and hellhound, flying succubi that threw flames and greater demons that could crush the tank he was in, all of it emboldened by the mass of charging Legionnaires in plate armour. “AIM FOR THE BIG ONE!” The commander shouted, that was the usual strategy. The tank turrets turned as the mountain to their side opened fire. Those were garrison troops, it was obvious from how their bullets bounced as often as they penetrated against simple plate that worn. The demons raised their shields, they raised towards the tanks as another flame came to engulf them.
Not hot enough to cook the ammunition, definitely not hot enough to melt the armour then. Likkom just kept on looking through the tiny periscope ahead of him, his fingers tapping madly, barely controlled enough as to not accidently press down on any button. His rapidly shifting eyes found the great demon. A huge thing with an axe, all muscle, with legs as thick as oak and arms like some other kind of tree, although Likkom had forgotten the name. “FIRE!”
A direct hit, an explosion, a hole, a death. The greater demon fell forwards, crushing at least a dozen of its comrades on the way down. Ashen Skies may be overhead. The only light here could be that of orange flames and blinding white spotlamp. The air could taste like ash and gunpowder and smoke. Demons could be ahead and overhead and everywhere. Gunfire may have deafened him already, but Likkom did not care. In this moment, he was truly alive.
There was no place Likkom would rather be though.
Sector F2: 18 Cameras Available: 4 Summits Remain.
If there was anything that Corporal Arl appreciated, it was being part of the Retaking Division. They were safe from the pyres brought on by the melting and his life had descended into endless high-octane tunnel fights. Maybe it was different on the surface, where such things as manoeuvring and flanking existed, not down here. He took the heavy rifle, a repurposed anti-material sniper, and leaned it over a crate that had been dragged to the end of the corridor.
At the other end, a dozen demons were charging forwards. The one at the front had raised its shield, that hunk of thick metal was the whole reason to bring cumbersome anti-tank weaponry into these long straightaways. He barely aimed, there was no reason to with this gun. A bullet to the head and a bullet to the chest left the same size of utterly unhealable hole, the only difference was that the latter was far easier to hit than the first.
Arl pulled the trigger as another soldier in blank slid past him and fell prone on the ground. He held his rifle for the flashlight on its front, Arl pulled the bolt back, up, down, forward, and a slid another bullet into the magazine. Retaking Division, the ultimate meatgrinder, for those who had lost their minds. Ekkerson did not even need to conscript for it.
He had enough volunteers. Corporal Arl watched the light of life drift away from those crimson eyes in this deep tunnel and was once again reminded why he had joined as four demons fell backwards. He shot again.
Sector G1: 0 Summits Remain.
“Sir.” Lieutenant Kiwamba said. “We have a call.” Ekkerson spun around in his seat. Finally some good news. It would be a call to retreat. It would be the deployment of a major Divine. It would be some form of reinforcements coming to him. It was none of the sort. Kiwamba sounded confused more than anything. “From Iboud.”
What the fuck did the Imperial Bureau of Weapons Design want? “Click him through to me.”
“This is Chief Engineer Avol, just Jorg though.” Ekkerson rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to suddenly be friends with whoever was on the other line?
“This is General Ekkerson.” Ekkerson replied. “What do you want?”
“Sir…” Jorg began and then his voice fell for a moment. “We… I… Well, I don’t know the proper procedure for this.”
“Fuck the procedure, what do you want?”
“Sir, we would like your men to assist with the first live-firing of the Ashjet prototype.”