Fourth Vector Ch. 31

As the new king and queen of their people, Nikias and Elektra were afforded a single tent for their privacy. Like the rest of their warriors, they shared the same hardships in this conflict.

"The Swabians didn't have much in the way of food on them," noted Elektra as she prepared a warm bag for them to sleep. "Either they are having supply troubles or their bases are moving further into the interior."

"It might be a little of both," said Nikias as he put his loaded musket near the bag. He wiped his face with his hands and blinked several times in quick succession to stem off the exhaustion. "We know how much trouble we're having finding food with all the invaders here taking the best for themselves. Perhaps that misery is finally being visited upon them."

"It's going to be a long summer," she replied as she slipped into the bag. "We lost two more men in the fight tonight. I've recovered their muskets for our supplies but we'll miss their presence in the weeks to come. But what more can we do?"

Nikias shook his head and slipped into the bag with her. Instinctively, his wife wrapped her arms around his torso and put her head against his chest. It was a far cry from sleeping in the palace in the capital city. Fate seemed ordained to make them a shadowy band of rebels far from anything that looked like civilization.

"We keep fighting," answered Nikias. "For your father. For all the dead. For all those that are still living."

Elektra nodded subtly. There was no hint of surrender in her voice but taking losses day after day was wearing thin the veneer between perseverance and reality. The names of the dead were so very long indeed. It had been weeks since her father's passing but perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise? He didn't have to see their ragged conditions or moral spirit in these dark days. Even kind Melora couldn't escape the conflict, having been killed on the retreat only two days after the passing of her lover. That one proved to be a source of nightmares just as potent as the passing of her father.

"Every passing day of this conflict makes me feel less like a queen," said Elektra in a breathy whisper. "I feel more like a wraith. Empty, hollow, and living on the brink."

Nikias squeezed her extra tight. "There will come a day when we can restore everything that once was. We just need to make it to that day. Until then, we need to keep our wits about us. We need to remember who we are and what we're fighting for. If we lose our way, we may never get our Sorella back."

"Do you think it's still possible?" she asked. "Do you think we can do it on our own?"

That was a difficult question to answer, one that he hesitated to give his true thoughts. The short answer was no. The Swabians were too strong for them to take on their own with their ragged band of guerrillas. Their better weaponry and larger numbers meant that all the Sorellans could do was harass them like a group of bees might harass a bear. If the Swabians kept pushing into the interior with force, they would eventually find there wasn't any further land to retreat to.

It was only with the aid of an outsider that they stood any chance of survival. But who might come to their rescue? Jack Easterbrook was out there somewhere but they now lacked the means to communicate with him. And if the word from that dead Swabian was true, Easterbrook might be tied up with subsequent invasions to the other countries of the West.

Help might be a long way from the present.

"We'll do the best we can," said Nikias finally before putting his lips against his wife's forehead. "As long as we believe in our cause, we can't be defeated."

Elektra said nothing further. He guessed his words were just the reassurance that she needed to hear, enabling her to finally get some sleep.

Nikias wouldn't join her anytime soon. He would remain awake while staring at the top of the tent. He just wished he believed the words he spoke to his wife.

For now, they were on their own.

*****

The sound of slurping filled the tiny room, much to Adalbert's delight.

It was a common sound now with his newly elevated position to Lord of Cormfeld however the novelty of it still had yet to wear off. After all, he enjoyed receiving head just as much as the next man, but most of the time, it was the variety in the giver that gave him the most pleasure.

Not this time though. It was exactly who the giver was that made this so enjoyable. He looked down into the furious stare and pouty lips of none other than Magda Bulow, the former "Butcher of Blenheim."

These days, Magda was more of a blower than a butcher. Ever since being relieved of her command on Picardy, Adalbert had requisitioned her to his own staff while he and General Ferberg planned the final assault on the city of Daban. It was the final achievement of a dream that was long in the making. He would not only finally subjugate the entire country but he would also make Magda his own personal sex slave.

Magda spit out his cock like it was a cylinder of shit. "Are we done yet?"

Adalbert pulled back his hand and slapped her across the face, leaving a red mark for each portion of her skin where his fingers had landed.

"Did I cum yet?" he asked as she rubbed her stinging face. "If the answer is no, then we are most certainly not done yet."

She gave him a look of pure venom and reluctantly put his cock back in her mouth.

The only pitiful part about finally conquering Magda was her performance. With pouty lips such as hers, he expected a blow job that was second to none. Those lips should have been able to make him see the gods yet her performance was anything but enthusiastic. She was listless and boring and he kept having to remind her to add more saliva to his shaft. It was like finally receiving a long-awaited toy only to find out it broke within twenty minutes of playing with it.

Needless to say, he wasn't very happy.

"All right, enough," he snapped, pulling his cock from her mouth in anger.

A small look of triumph passed her face for a brief moment. No doubt her wheels were turning. Perhaps she thought if she just performed poorly enough, she'd escape the further humiliations of the flesh.

How wrong she was about to be.

"Lean over my desk now," said Adalbert as he stood up and moved to her side.

Magda's face went from confusion to anger to agony in a matter of seconds. Humbled by her failures, the would-be conqueror of Picardy laid against his desk gingerly while Adalbert yanked her trousers down around her ankles.

Her sex was as dry as the Andalucian desert. Not a hint of wetness materialized that was worthy of the act he had in mind.

That was well and good. He had other means to achieve his ends. Adalbert reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of lubrication, one that had come with him ever since his orgy on Naxos. When Magda saw the bottle and what he intended to do with it, she attempted an apology.

"Please, Adalbert, I'm sorry," she whined before looking back at him with her big dark eyes. "I'll suck your cock but please, not there. I've never done that before."

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped as he greased his cock. He would tolerate no more of her protests now. Where was this kindly demeanor when they were spreading the plague on Picardy last year? Where was it when he rescued her from Daban palace for an escape to Swabia? Where was it when she threatened his life back in Zarah?

There was no more time for apologies.

If only for the attempt at mercy, Adalbert put a swipe of lubrication over her rear entrance to aid his efforts. She would have to make do with the pain.

She yelped once she felt the pressure against her bowels. Adalbert watched as she grabbed the desk to steady herself while he pushed on her asshole with the tip of his cock.

"Don't you dare fight me," he said while laying a healthy smack against her ass. "If you push against my cock, I'll only make this harder for you."

Magda whimpered in return. He felt some of the resistance leave her asshole, enabling him to pop the tip of it inside her. Instantly, Magda began to groan in pain. Spurred on by her suffering, Adalbert began to feed her more of his cock.

Her legs were shaking by the time he had a third of his shaft inside her. She was screaming by the midway point. He reached across and punched the back of her head to quiet her, and she cried silently as he had his way with her.

It was the manifestation of all the abuse she'd given him over the last year. All the taunts and the threats were coming due, and he took his misery out on her body. He didn't even stop when he saw the blood on his cock, knowing that it wasn't his. Instead, he increased his tempo and sawed out of her asshole while Magda shook beneath him.

Vengeance was sweet indeed. He looked forward to many years breaking Magda so that she would become as docile as a puppy. It was the only just thing that he could think of after the way she treated him.

His orgasm came quickly. He buried himself to the root and fired off several blasts of his seed deep into Magda's bowels before releasing the tight grip he had on her body. His cock was a bloody mess when he withdrew it. Adalbert quickly toweled it off while Magda continued to shake against the desk.

"Get dressed, whore," he snapped. "And be here by nightfall. We'll see then if you've found any more skill to your blow jobs."

Magda dressed silently while she cried. Before she could leave, he issued one last threat.

"If I find that your blow jobs aren't more enthusiastic this evening, then we'll repeat the same act we just performed, and then we'll try again."

Magda's eyes went wide in fear. He could only grin in return before throwing her out of the room and finishing his dressing.

The timing of his orgasm was impeccable. In short order, he would meet with General Ferberg to discuss their plans on retaking Daban. That meant he had to finish dressing or he would make the general wait. His professional relationship with Ferberg was coming along quite nicely and the last thing he wanted to do was to put any strain on it.

Adalbert had not a moment to spare and he found the general outside their makeshift headquarters at the abandoned factory. It was there that Ferberg was supervising an incoming delivery.

And what a delivery it was.

Rows and rows of tanks had now arrived in Daban. All of them the latest models stemming from the armory on Cormfeld. They glistened in the sunlight with their fresh paint and formidable weaponry. Not content just to crank out models that used machine guns, these newer models had a larger caliber gun as well, making them more potent on the battlefield.

It would be these tanks that would complete the subjugation of Picardy.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" asked Ferberg, echoing Adalbert's thoughts.

"You can say that again," replied Adalbert. "They look like significant improvements over our existing models."

"And their timing couldn't be any better," said Ferberg. "With the Picards in a race to up the caliber of their tank models, these couldn't have come at a better moment. Now it'll truly be a numbers game, and I sincerely doubt the Picards have enough tanks to go head-to-head against our numbers."

"It all looks so very nice—these tanks and the new regiments," said Adalbert. "Now that we have numbers on our side again, when can we plan the final attack?"

Ferberg used a rag to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "As soon as this blasted heat is over with, I'd say. It's so sticky out that the last thing anyone wants to do is fight."

That was true. Picardy had seen some exceptionally warm weather as of late, especially compared to Swabia which was at a much lower latitude. The temperature was scorching throughout the daylight hours and many of their soldiers were beginning to report heat exhaustion.

"We should have a break in the weather in a few days," continued Ferberg. "Then we'll put our new plan into motion. I don't just plan to throw these tanks all around our line and let them spearhead the attack. We're going to try a different tactic this time."

"What tactic would that be?" asked Adalbert.

"Concentration of force," said Ferberg. "It's like this. We know the Picards can counter the tanks with their own handheld explosives. Sending any small group of tanks forward together can be an exercise in futility, since the enemy has enough explosives to counter them. No doubt those explosives are prevalent with all the front line troops. With me so far?"

Adalbert nodded his head.

Ferberg then bent down to the ground and grabbed a stick to draw in the dirt. "If this is the city, then what we're looking for is one concentrated point that we can send the tanks down to achieve a total breakthrough. Similar to what they did to us to push us out of Daban when Magda Bulow was in charge, we are going to repeat their tactics against them. Somewhere along this entire perimeter is a gap that's waiting to be exploited. We just have to find it."

"How are you planning on doing that?" asked Adalbert. "Probing attacks? The use of spies? A warm body that can detect where the defense is the most fragile?"

Ferberg actually grinned. "Even better than that I might add. Come, there's someone that I want you to meet."

Adalbert gave him a confused look but soon followed the general back inside the factory. They moved toward Ferberg's office, which was on the second floor of the building not far from Adalbert's personal quarters where he regularly defiled Magda.

Ferberg threw open the door to reveal another man inside.

Adalbert took careful stock of the man. He was clearly a Picard by the looks of him, with tinges of red still showing through the gray hair. He held himself like an officer, and Adalbert had to guess that he was part of the Picard army at one time. His eyes were dull and dead, and he had a beak-like nose that gave character to his face.

"This man is going to show us the weak spot in the Picards' defenses," said Ferberg proudly as he tapped the man on the shoulder. "Isn't that right, Colonel Tavish?"

*****

It was early in the morning a few days after Barnabas and Ferris had been arrested when Greg heard the sound of mortars.

The explosive sounds were rapid, one after another after another, all coming down a short distance from where Greg was positioned in the palace. The rapidity and ferocity of the attack could only mean one thing—the long-awaited Swabian counterattack had begun.

All the units had been on high alert. The Swabians could be seen crowding the front lines and being very active on their stretch of ground. It couldn't have come at a worse time. With them having received lots of new units and reinforcements (not to mention tanks), the allied army was now outnumbered quite substantially.

Greg exited the palace at a run as he attempted to make contact with his unit commanders through his radio. The first instinct was to run toward the sound of mortars but the sounds of explosives came from all around him. Every direction seemed to be thick with activity so Greg did what he thought most prudent—he headed for the Javan section of the line.

As he ran, it seemed like the entire city had been engulfed in an earthquake. He could barely hear anything beyond the sounds of explosives, gunfire, and the screams of men.

It wasn't hard to tell why. Not far from the front lines, he saw the battered remains of the Picard contingent streaming away from the front. Many of them were wounded, crawling away from danger as their only recourse. Those that ran put serious distance between themselves and the attacking Swabians. It soon became apparent what the cause was for their distress.

Directly in front of him was a force of enemy tanks about fifty units deep. Greg's eyes widened at seeing such a mass concentration of armor, the likes of which was attempted before in battle. They stretched onward for blocks, rattling down the city's boulevards like a parade from hell.

Judging by the broken remnants of the Picard army in front of him, Greg would have to move fast to prevent the city from falling entirely. He raced away from the concentration of enemy tanks to find the Javan component of the front line. Their section was the northern and western end of the city, where they jutted out across the narrow peninsula to prevent the complete envelopment of the capital.

Thankfully, it wasn't too hard to find Dustin. The unfortunate thing was that even this part of the Javan line was under heavy attack.

"We need to pull back," yelled Greg to Dustin as soon as he arrived. "The Swabians have concentrated all of their armor on the Picard line! The Picards have shattered and the tanks are rolling further into the city!"

Dustin's eyes went wide. "Is there any hope of reforming them?"

Greg shook his head. "Not from what I witnessed. If we don't leave this position, we're all going to get cut off and surrounded!"

That was all it took to get Dustin on his side. Like the loyal subordinate officer he was, he quickly helped to spread Greg's message as word was sent out to all the Javan units to pull back to the center of the city.

"We can make another stand here," said Greg as he showed off a map to Dustin. "Right in front of the palace but we need to move quickly. The tanks will already be getting closer!"

It was at this moment that the training of the less than three thousand Javan marines showed off their true quality. They were able to execute a fighting withdrawal of the northern neighborhoods of the city and move backwards, abandoning districts that they had fought so hard to liberate from the Swabians at the beginning of summer. From Greg, it was the ultimate feeling of deja vu—having to fight and refight over the same ground over and over again.

A withdrawal was still a retreat no matter how orderly, and the Javans took casualties as they moved backwards throughout the city. Many of them met their Picard brethren along the way, broken in discipline and shattered in spirit. They would be of no more help in this battle.

Unfortunately, the tanks had reached the palace by the time the Javans got there. They would need to move further to reestablish a defensive line.

"Grab a few platoons that have the sticky bombs and light up those tanks," yelled Greg to Dustin. "I'm going to find a spot for our men to hunker down in."

"Will do and good luck!" replied Dustin.

Dustin's handpicked men were able to stem the tide of the tanks while Greg sent another force to clear out the palace and get those inside to safer quarters. At this point in the battle, Picard civilians could be seen streaming away from the front, no doubt fearful that their city would fall. Mothers clutched their children and ran down the city's streets toward the harbor, now the only safe place that wasn't threatened by the Swabians.

At one point, Greg saw Aedan, Ciara, and their young son, Davin, make their exit from the palace, accompanied by Kat, Abigail, and Vera. They moved toward the harbor as well while the Swabians pressed on, hot on their heels.

Within the next hour, a decent portion of the enemy tank force was disabled by Dustin's men but their platoon was out of sticky bombs. The Swabians' momentum was slowed considerably, allowing the Javans time to establish their new defensive line which ringed the harbor. It was a natural position that aided the defense but with so much of the city packed away in such tight quarters, they wouldn't be able to stay there for very long.

If the Swabians renewed their attack with the same ferocity of the earlier part of the day, Daban would indeed fall.

There remained but two options for them. Either they could escape on the Javan ships and save the better portion of the allied army or they could use their naval artillery to open fire on the city and keep the Swabians at bay.