The forward positions of Red Pine Forest Town after the bombing looked as if they had been completely plowed over, permeated everywhere with the stench of gunpowder, blood, and charred meat, nauseating to the extreme.
The surviving red pines burned with crackling sounds, mingled with the wails of the wounded, forming a hellish scene.
Bolesław crawled out of a crater. One of his ears heard nothing but a persistent buzz.
He shook his head; his mud- and blood-caked face showed no expression.
He anxiously scanned his surroundings. The once orderly defensive line had become isolated craters, littered with tattered flags and twisted corpses.
A third of his 7th Banner Team had been forever lost in those ten minutes.
"Get up! All of you, get up!"
Bolesław roared with all his might.
He kicked the rear of a young knight curled up hugging his head in a crater.
"The war isn't over! Pick up your lances!"
The surviving knights were jolted awake by his roar. They crawled blankly from their hiding spots, eyes vacant.
Comrades who had been alive moments ago were now charred chunks.
This blow was far more devastating to morale than blades or swords.
Galahad Kowal's situation was slightly better.
The Silver Lance Pegasus Knights had superior individual qualities and quicker reactions, finding better cover when the bombing began.
But they had suffered heavy losses too—nearly a hundred elite knights dead in the air raid, many more wounded.
A streak of black ash smeared his cheek, his short hair disheveled, but the flames in his eyes burned fiercer, ignited by vengeful fury.
"Regroup!"
"All who can still move, form up on me!"
Galahad Kowal's voice returned to its usual icy tone.
"The Leithanians will pay for their sneak attack!"
However, the ground began trembling once more.
On the horizon appeared a line of black silhouettes.
"It's their armored vehicles!" a knight screamed in terror.
Hundreds of Tiger I tanks in wedge formation advanced slowly toward the shattered Kazimierz lines.
Flanking the tanks, mobile infantry rode in armored personnel carriers.
Leon piloted his Tiger 037 tank at the tip of the wedge.
Through the narrow driver's periscope, he saw the devastated positions ahead.
"Hey, commander, spot those little ponies yet?" The radioman and coaxial gunner whistled lightly, tone casual.
"They haven't recovered from the fireworks show."
"Cut the chatter, stay alert," Leon said steadily.
"Per plan, alternate advance, load HE rounds."
"Maintain speed, don't push too fast."
"Got it, boss. I don't want our tracks stuck in those damn craters," the driver replied, hands steady on the controls.
He felt every turn of the tracks underfoot in this nearly seventy-ton war machine; the power thrilled him.
"For Kazimierz!"
In desperation, the surviving Campaign Knights summoned their final courage.
A banner captain raised a broken flagpole, roaring the charge.
The remnants, several thousand strong, charged the steel torrent.
They were Kazimierz's Campaign Knights; retreat was not in their dictionary!
"Target enemy infantry clusters, fire!"
The tanks' coaxial machine guns opened up first, hosing the charging knights with bullets.
Rounds tore through their armor effortlessly, spraying blood mists.
Knights fell like dominoes, but those behind trampled comrades' corpses, roaring onward.
Bolesław did not charge; it was futile suicide.
He led his few dozen veteran survivors, using craters for cover, trying to close on the iron monsters.
He saw a knight thrust his lance at a tank's front; the Originium Arts-infused weapon bent at an absurd angle on contact with the frontal armor, the recoil shattering the knight's arm bones.
"Fire!"
The tanks' main guns boomed in sequence.
Each thunderclap meant a knight squad obliterated by HE shells.
This battle was never equal from the start.
"Silver Lance Pegasus Knights! Javelin volley!"
On the verge of collapse, Galahad Kowal roared.
The surviving nearly seven hundred hurled themselves into action.
They eschewed frontal charges, leveraging unmatched mobility to dart between craters and ruins in small teams.
Their speed outpaced even the tank turrets' traverse.
Entering range, they unleashed their silver javelins in unison.
"Whoosh—!"
The air whistled as hundreds of javelins formed a silver rain of death over the Leithanien vanguard tanks.
Leon heard a massive "clang" on his hull; the tank shuddered as if rammed by a siege hammer.
He reeled dizzily; interior lights flickered.
"Frontal armor hit! No penetration! No penetration!" the radioman reported after checking.
The nearly 120mm sloped frontal armor of Drummond Alloy No. 1 held.
But not all tanks were so lucky.
A Tiger to Leon's left had slightly exposed its weaker side dodging a crater.
A javelin struck, piercing with a screech of rending metal.
Kinetic force drove half the shaft inside, erupting a blood mist; the five crew perished instantly.
The tank slewed to a halt, belching smoke.
Another javelin jammed between a tank's tracks and drive sprocket, snapping the tracks and immobilizing it.
Others, though unbreached, transmitted shattering shocks inside; crews bled from orifices, some unconscious.
One volley: ten of the Leithanien vanguard's hundred tanks destroyed outright, over a dozen disabled, many crews wounded.
This stunning sight rekindled hope in the near-broken Campaign Knights.
And gave Leithanien's tankers their first taste of lethal threat from old-era prowess.
"Damn, are these guys monsters?"
Leon's radioman stared at the smoking friendly tank, voice trembling.
"All units! Fall back! Create distance!" The commander's order came promptly.
"Prioritize the fast movers! Cover their likely areas with HE!"
In the field HQ, Taylor watched impassively via drone feed.
"Silver Lance Pegasus Knights... well-deserved reputation," he murmured.
"Minister, our losses..."
"Acceptable," Taylor cut off the staffer.
"Order: 1st Armored Division halt advance, contract formation, firepower suppression."
"All mobile infantry withdraw, coordinate with tanks, form circular defense."
He paused.
"They've played their ace; no need for us to hold back."
He picked up another red communicator.
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