Western-sector bunker.
“Report.”
Wendt stopped beneath the observation step. Above him, a lieutenant lay against the trench lip with a spyglass pressed to one eye.
Smoke drifted across the elven ridge. Through it came the unfamiliar cracks of the rail-pistols, followed by a deeper impact that shook loose soil from the trench wall.
“They’re across, sir. Fighting inside the position.”
“All of them?”
The lieutenant adjusted the glass.
“I can’t account for everyone.”
Wendt resumed walking.
Six paces took him past a stack of timber braces. Six brought him back beneath the observation step. Soldiers pressed themselves against the wall to let him pass.
South of the trench, the white markers still stood in no-man’s-land. Beyond them, copper flashed through the smoke.
One of the cars had stopped in the elven ditch. Fire climbed its rear compartment.
Wendt looked away from it.
“Thom?”
“The volunteers have reached the rise.” The lieutenant leaned farther over the lip. “They’re dragging the tower wreckage around. I can see shovels.”
That stopped Wendt more effectively than the explosions.
“Digging?”
“Yes, sir.”
He climbed the observation step and took the offered spyglass.
Smoke filled the lens. Then the wind opened a gap.
Human soldiers moved across ground that had belonged to the elves that morning. One dragged a copper panel backward while another hacked at the slope with a pick. Farther along the ridge, a greatsword rose and fell between the wrecked shelters.
A narrow figure with a metal forearm pointed toward the eastern face of the rise.
Thom.
Wendt lowered the glass.
Behind him, Molino lifted his staff from the trench floor. Mana-light ran briefly through the Crown command seal.
Across no-man’s-land, the defensive lattice returned.
The nearest buried formation gave a faint blue pulse beneath the mud. Farther out, ward posts brightened one after another.
The staff slipped in Molino’s grip. His shoulders had folded inward. Sweat stood on his forehead despite the cold.
Wendt turned from the ridge.
“Professor. Sit.”
Molino’s eyes found him.
“My part is done. It's with your soldiers now,” Molino said. Each word came spaced, as if he were rationing air.
“Sit down. If this works, I will need that corridor open again. Ammunition. Water. The wounded. I cannot have you drop the seal halfway through.”
Molino lowered himself onto the step. The Crown command seal rested against his knee. His staff lay in the mud.
Wendt handed the spyglass back.
“Signals. Put the external cores back in their housings.”
The communications lieutenant stared at him.
“Sir, Lord Kaspar’s asked—”
“I remember it.”
“He specified communications silence.”
“And he is now fighting on the elven ridge. They don't need any kind of surprise, let's focus on giving them support.”
Wendt looked south again. Another spell struck beyond the smoke. Dirt rose higher than the surviving observation tower.
“Record that I ordered the links restored,” he said. “The responsibility is mine.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Notify the adjoining bunkers. Tell them the western ridge is under assault by Iron Cross personnel. We need movement along the rest of the front.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Nobody crosses.” Wendt pointed east. “Have them bring their soldiers forward into the trenches. Show the elves something to worry about besides our people.”
The lieutenant nodded.
“If their reserves are watching another sector, they aren’t all moving toward Thom,” Wendt continued. “Make them wonder where the next attack is coming from.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant ran.
Wendt remained beneath the trench lip for another few seconds.
A soldier crouching beside the timber braces watched the southern ridge with his mouth slightly open.
“First time you’ve seen them retreat?” Wendt asked.
The soldier swallowed.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Then watch carefully.”
Wendt turned toward the bunker stairs.
“We’ll need to know how to make them do it again.”
Technicians carried blue cores between the safe and the long bank of brass housings. Dust shook from the ceiling whenever a spell landed close enough to disturb the bunker’s foundations.
The first restored crystal hissed.
The second produced a distant voice demanding identification.
By the time Wendt reached the table, three operators were speaking at once.
“No, the report is confirmed.”
“Western elven position. South of our forward trench.”
“Our soldiers, Lieutenant. Not theirs.”
Wendt pulled the installation map toward him.
An operator covered the mouthpiece of his crystal.
“Regular Army eastern linkage, sir. Major wants to know whether we’ve lost our minds.”
“Tell him we’ll discuss that after the battle.”
The operator repeated it.
A pause followed, then he looked up.
“They’re moving two sections into their forward trench.”
“What can they fire?”
The operator listened.
“Not much at that range. Most of their issue wands won’t reach the elven line. They have a few long-range rods in reserve.”
“Use those. Spread the firing positions.”
The operator relayed the order.
From the crystal came a rough voice, loud enough for Wendt to hear without leaning closer.
“We’ll give the bastards something to look at. Tell your boys not to waste it.”
Wendt bent over the mouthpiece.
“They won’t. Keep your medical station ready.”
A brief silence.
“Understood.”
The next Regular Army post argued for nearly a minute before agreeing to move its reserve forward. A third had already begun once its observers confirmed fighting beyond the western ridge.
How many men could they expose without weakening the underground linkages? Which stretch of the elven line should they pressure? Were the Iron Cross mines active again?
Wendt answered each one.
Then he reached the Magical Army connections.
The first operator needed the mission authorization number.
Another said the field commander was unavailable.
The third promised to transfer the request to a senior officer, after which the crystal emitted nothing but a low, intermittent whine.
Wendt stood over it.
On the wall map, a clerk placed two markers beside the Regular Army positions.
“Commander.”
An officer stood at the door.
“There’s a reporter at the outer blast wall.”
Wendt did not look up.
“No.”
“He says he’s with the Imperial Chronicle.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
“He’s asking for access to the observation trench. He has a capture device.”
“Then he can photograph the blast wall.”
The officer hesitated.
“Sir, he says he can hear an offensive taking place.”
“So can I. That's why I’m busy.”
The officer withdrew.
The crystal finally cleared.
“This is the colonel of the eastern Magical Army sector,” a voice said. “On whose authority are you requesting redeployment?”
“Commander Wendt. Iron Cross western installation.”
“I have your operator’s message.”
“Then move your soldiers.”
A pause.
“I have not received an order authorizing offensive action.”
“You’re receiving a request for supporting fire. Our people are already on the ridge.”
“I understand the situation.”
Wendt looked toward the doorway. Through the corridor beyond it came the distant percussion of another volley.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you do.”
The colonel’s voice cooled.
“My formations are deployed according to standing orders from the Ministry of War. I cannot abandon those orders because the Iron Cross decides, without consultation, to charge across a mine field.”
“Your formations don’t need to abandon anything. Put mages in the forward firing positions. Start a bombardment against the eastern stretch of their trench. Make them keep soldiers there.”
“An offensive bombardment. We have never done something like that.”
“Then fucking learn how to do it.”
“We still require authorization.”
“From whom?”
“The Minister of War.”
Wendt’s fingers flattened against the table.
“Where is Roderich?”
The room had grown quieter around him. Even the nearest operator stopped adjusting his crystal.
“The Archduke is attending the commencement of an important Academy expedition,” the colonel replied. “His staff are forwarding urgent correspondence through the expedition’s command channel.”
“An expedition.”
“Yes.”
“And while his staff forward correspondence, you intend to watch?”
“What I intend, Commander, is to avoid starting a general engagement because your prince wanted a spectacle.”
Wendt’s jaw tightened.
The colonel continued.
“You have committed men to a position without arranging artillery support, without coordinating with the other branches, and without establishing a common command structure. Now you expect us to remedy that oversight while accepting responsibility for whatever follows.”
Those accusations would look excellent in a report.
They might even be accurate.
“Your supporting fire could prevent a counterattack from forming,” Wendt said. “That's what I'm asking for.”
“And if it draws their response onto my positions?”
“Then your bunkers will absorb the same spells they absorbed this morning.”
“You do not command my sector.”
“No. You still fucking fire.”
The colonel fell silent.
Other voices came through the crystal. An aide reading something. The scrape of furniture. Men waiting for a superior to decide which danger mattered more.
Then the colonel spoke again.
“You should have aligned this operation with the Ministry before launching it.”
Wendt looked toward the open door.
The reporter was still outside.
Wendt leaned closer to the crystal.
“There is a Chronicle reporter at my bunker.”
“So what?”
“He wants permission to take photographs.”
“Commander—”
“I was going to refuse him. We’re rather occupied.”
The colonel said nothing.
“I may let him through.”
Wendt let the line stay dead.
“He’ll have a clear view from our observation trench. Iron Cross soldiers on the elven ridge. Regular Army troops moving forward to support them.”
His eyes rested on the empty section of the wall map.
“And your positions exactly as they were before the attack began.”
“You’re threatening me with a newspaper?”
“I’m telling you what he’ll photograph.”
“You think a picture excuses this recklessness?”
Wendt kept his voice flat.
“By tomorrow, every paper in the capital could be discussing why the men with the weakest wands managed to provide support while the Magical Army waited for their orders.”
“Go fuck yourself, Wendt.”
The operator beside him stared at the floor.
Wendt waited.
Several seconds passed. Beyond the crystal, the colonel issued an order too quietly for Wendt to catch.
Then his voice returned.
“I will deploy a forward caster section. Bombardment will begin against the far eastern trench and the approaches behind it.”
“Away from the western ridge.”
“I heard where your people are.”
“We’ll confirm the limits through your observer.”
“You’ll do more than that. You will send me your position updates directly. If your attack collapses, I want to know before your survivors start running toward my sector.”
“Agreed.”
Another pause.
“I hope this works,” the colonel said. “Because if it doesn’t, I will spend whatever remains of my career making certain the Iron Cross is buried beneath the inquiry.”
“Start the bombardment, Colonel.”
The connection broke.
Wendt straightened.
At the map, the clerk picked up another marker.
“Wait for confirmation,” Wendt said.
The clerk set it down again.
Only then did Wendt smile.
The officer returned before the next report arrived.
“The reporter is still asking, sir.”
“Let him through.”
The man blinked, caught between the order and the blast wall. “Into the bunker?”
“Into the observation trench.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make this clear. There is nobody available to guarantee his safety. We aren’t losing a soldier because he wants a better angle.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“If that discourages him, he can leave.”
The officer’s expression suggested he did not expect it to.
Wendt returned to the table.
“Capital connection,” he said.
An operator reached for another crystal.
“Iron Cross High Command?”
“Supply first. Then High Command. I want both.”
The operator began establishing the link.
Wendt pulled a blank requisition sheet from the clerk’s stack and pushed it toward him.
“Rail-pistol ammunition. Current production. Copper balls, matched to the weapons Lord Kaspar brought.”
The clerk began writing.
“Replacement Grade B crystals. Cleaning rods and cloth. Spare weapons if they have them.”
“How much ammunition, Commander?”
“As much as they can dispatch immediately. Get an inventory before they start promising quantities.”
Wendt glanced at the southern edge of the map.
The Knights might spend everything they carried merely keeping the ridge until evening.
“Ask where the nearest reserve stock is,” he continued. “Capital, Grenzheim, military freight already on the road. I want departure times and actual locations.”
The clerk’s pen scratched faster.
“And an arrival estimate.”
“Yes, sir.”
The supply crystal brightened.
At another station, the Magical Army liaison returned.
“Forward section deploying, Commander. Starting bombardment.”