Fourth Vector Ch. 49

Greg smirked. "I'll give the order right now."

*****

The battle had been raging for nearly three hours now. On the western horizon, the sun was beginning its descent, casting most of the battlefield in an orange glow only broken up by the lines of shadows of the men as they moved forward.

Bancroft was anxious for the results. He was disappointed that his tanks had been largely ineffective against the Fourthie armor but his Elite Guard was making excellent progress against the Fourthie flank.

The only problem was that the Fourthies hadn't broken yet. And somewhere out there, Jack Easterbrook was still alive and commanding the flow of this battle.

That had to change. If he was to wrap this battle up by nightfall, he had to break the Fourthie line at once.

It was that thought that brought him to find Menard.

"What forces do we still have left in reserve?" asked Bancroft, finding the general hunched over his own map.

"There's nothing left in reserve," said Menard while giving Bancroft a confused look. "I threw the last of them in with the attack alongside the Elite Guard. Everything we have to throw at them is proceeding at the flank right now."

"And they still haven't broken yet?" asked Bancroft, tapping his foot.

"Not yet, but all reports are that the enemy is getting overwhelmed," said Menard. "We expect a breakthrough at some point in the next hour."

"We're going to be lacking daylight at the end of the next hour," said Bancroft. "If we only break them then, we'll be rolling up the rest of the line in darkness. I need a breakthrough now, General."

"My men are doing everything they can--"

Bancroft interrupted him. "Make them do more then! These are Fourthie savages in front of them! Those so-called soldiers aren't fit to tie your shoelaces! Break them at once, General! This fight depends on it!"

Bancroft could tell that Menard wanted to argue back. He had the look in his eyes of a man that felt like he was being asked to do the impossible, but one of the things that Bancroft liked most about Menard was that he didn't give into excuses.

He simply executed his orders and asked nothing more of his officers.

Menard brought his radio to his lips. "All commanders, we need to pierce that Fourthie line right now. Commit every remaining man that's not otherwise engaged. Break the line and finish this fight."

A look of satisfaction appeared on Bancroft's face as he turned toward the north.

Easterbrook's time was numbered.

*****

The decision to pull back came almost instantaneously. The only thing that Brian regretted was leaving Sven's body behind but there was no time to recover him. As he shuffled back between the treeline, he could feel the sounds of bullets grazing the air around him.

It would only take one shot to bring him down, and Brian almost felt like it was coming regardless of what he did. There was no way he could continue to move back without feeling the inevitable sting of death.

It never came. He dove behind a tree, where another foxhole happened to be. The men inside were from his regiment and they were firing away at the approaching wave of Javans that just kept coming without end.

"How many more of these fuckers do I have to kill?" shouted one man next to Brian. "We're going to get overwhelmed!"

Brian meant to answer his comrade's question but a sudden explosion just next to him turned his world black. His ears rang loudly once more and it felt like his brain was rattling around in his skull.

When the ringing finally stopped, he felt the pain. As soon as he moved his arm, a lightning bolt of pressure shot up his arm and down the back of his spine.

Looking over, it wasn't hard to see why he was in pain.

Small chunks of metal had embedded itself into his skin. What had been a grenade that exploded right next to him had showered him in shrapnel that was now digging into his flesh.

Putting his fingers to wounds, he wasn't surprised to pull them away and see blood. Unfortunately, there was no time to tend the wound. The Javans were once again almost on top of his position, and if he didn't start firing, he would be overwhelmed again.

It was as another Javan fell merely five feet from his position that their relief finally arrived. Suddenly, the Western lines were full of men. Men from a Swabian regiment pushed forward from the rear, occupying their foxholes and bringing a fresh exuberance to the fight.

Their timing couldn't have been more perfect. Suddenly faced with the prospect of a reinvigorated enemy, the Javans started to fall back. They never again reached the position near Brian's foxhole, where he could still see the crumpled form of the dead Javan in front of him. Their retreat enabled the rest of the regiment, plus the Swabian reserves, to push forward, reoccupying their old positions.

In another thirty minutes, the battle on the flank was just about over.

Brian learned after the fight that the generals had released the strategic reserve to reinforce their position, and that had been what turned the tide of the fight. Without those regiments, they would have been overwhelmed by the Javan attacks, and their line would have been pierced.

Brian's regiment paid a terrible cost for the fighting. Not only would he need bandaged up for the wounds to his arm and side, but he'd lost several friends in the fighting, men like Sven who would never get back home alive. Those that were fortunate to survive the fight offered to bury those that didn't make it through, and throughout the rest of the evening, it was a somber group that buried their former comrades.

Throughout it all, Brian couldn't help but wonder about Arnold. How was his friend faring? Had he survived the fight?

*****

On Arnold's portion of the battlefield, the fighting was starting to die down. The sun was now just a small dot on the western horizon, casting just about everything on the field in front of him in a heavy shadow.

The Javan attacks were starting to falter, just like their tanks had earlier in the afternoon. Now those wrecked and burning tanks were being used as cover for the Javan soldiers, many of whom were no doubt hoping to just get to nightfall so they could stop the fighting.

Casualties were thick on both sides. Everywhere that Arnold looked, he could see only bodies, blood, and mud--the only things that the battlefield had in spades.

Amongst his own regiment, casualties were surprisingly light. Arnold knew a few of the men that died, but most of those within his own company had managed to survive or only be slightly wounded. One man had a grenade explode not far from him, peppering his face with the shrapnel. He was told that he would never hear again, but he was still alive when many others weren't.

As the fighting completely broke off, Arnold was able to chat with some of the other soldiers, and he found out that the fighting on the left flank was much heavier than it was here. He knew that Brian was stationed on that flank and hoped that his friend had managed to pull through.

The one thing that no one could say definitively was if this battle had been a victory or a defeat. His side had technically stopped the Javans from breaking through but the Javan Army was still intact and able to fight. So was the Western Army for that matter, even though they'd lost a lot of men in the process.

From Arnold's point of view, it seemed to be a stalemate. Neither army was able to obtain a position of dominance on the other, and it seemed likely that another fight would have to take place to decide the victory.

The only question was how soon? When would the fighting begin again?

*****

Jack wasn't terribly thrilled about the course of the battle that day. The Battle of Mobust had been a grind for both sides, and though he still occupied the battlefield without the intention to retreat, he couldn't really say that he'd gained a victory today.

Another battle would be needed. Another fight would have to determine their fates.

Fortunately for him, the army was still in good shape. There were several regiments on the left wing that were completely mauled in the course of the fighting, and Jack had already decided that they'd be paired up with other regiments to bolster their strength in the coming days.

Apart from that, what he was impressed with was how Greg and Ambros led the fighting. That's not to say that others didn't play their own distinct roles. Lindy, for example, led an excellent defense in the center that repelled the Javan tanks, but Greg and Ambros took on more strategic roles that more than made their mark on the course of the day.

It was so much so that Jack felt that he scarcely needed to be there. They could have handled the battle on their own without him, which was always a comforting thought for a commander with more than competent subordinates.

It was late in the evening by the time that both men arrived back at Jack's tent, both of them caked in mud and muck. Ambros was the first to speak, tallying up the number of dead.

"About six thousand men are dead or wounded on the left flank," said Ambros, sitting down and taking a sip of water. "Terrible price to pay for what was essentially a stalemate."

"Six thousand is quite the loss," said Jack before turning to Greg. "What about the rest of the army?"

"Nearly twenty-five hundred losses," said Greg. "That's from the right flank and the center."

Greg's comment really put the losses on the left flank into perspective. The flank was completely shattered, and it was only the timely intervention of the reserves that saved the day.

"At least we're still here to fight another day," said Jack. "We'll have to take on Bancroft again, but no doubt his army is hurting just as much as ours today."

"If this rain doesn't stop, it probably won't be tomorrow," said Ambros. "It's been raining hard ever since night fell and it doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon."

That would be a secret relief to just about everyone if that was truly the case. No doubt, most of the men were wondering if battle would be rejoined tomorrow morning, but if the torrential downpour of this evening made the conditions even worse, no one would be in a hurry to start fighting in the morning.

"We'll just have to see what the weather does," said Jack before taking a deep breath. "In the meantime, we should all get some sleep. I know today took a lot out of everyone. We should all get some rest."

Judging by the weary looks on both of his general's faces, they would be quick to agree. In fact, neither man said anything more. They gave subtle nods of approval and made for the exit of the tent.

"One more thing before you both go," said Jack, stopping them in their tracks. "You both did excellent today. Your leadership of this army is what is going to let us prevail over Bancroft. I've never witnessed finer generalship in my life, and I'm honored to have both of you with me. Your presence in this army is a blessing to all of us."

Not surprisingly, Greg looked at Ambros first and then smirked at Jack. "You're not so bad yourself, Jack. Although I can't help but wonder if you're buttering us up for something in the morning?"

Jack waved his hands. "No buttering, I promise. I just wanted to let you know how much you're appreciated in this army. That's all."

Ambros grinned. "Well, Jack, I can say you're a better man than the last monarch I fought for. Better by far."

Jack started to chuckle. "I'll take that compliment, thank you, Ambros."

Greg looked back over at Jack. "No matter what happens with this weather, we'll be ready to fight in the morning if you need us, Jack."

There were no sweeter words that Jack could have heard at that moment.

"I know you two will always be ready. For now, get some sleep. We're going to need it."

Both men nodded and resumed their walking toward the exit. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, Generals."

*****

"You did great tonight, soldier. You honored your country greatly."

Bancroft was the first to pat the man on the shoulder, having to reach up to touch the giant Guardsman's bulging frame. It was well past dark on the evening of the battle, but Bancroft wouldn't miss this opportunity to decorate his Elite Guard for their fighting prowess.

After all, the Elite Guard had almost completely shattered the Fourthie flank. If not for the release of the enemy reserves, Bancroft would have punched through the enemy's line and attacked him from the rear.

It was only nightfall that prevented him from sending through another attack, but Bancroft was certain that battle would be rejoined in the morning, and he'd have a chance to finish off Jack's army.

"Well done tonight, son," said Bancroft to another Guardsman, this one having a bandage wrapped around his forehead. "You've made your emperor very proud."

In fact, the entire army had done well today, better than Bancroft had expected for green troops. It gave him the hope that his deteriorating position could still be recovered, and that he might just be able to turn this war around still.

After congratulating the rest of the men in the Guard, as well as promising them riches for attaining victory in the morning, Bancroft made his way to Menard's tent to strategize about what a fight in the morning might look like. He found the man sitting down in his chair, looking completely exhausted and ready to sleep.

"Wake up, General, victory is afoot," said Bancroft, raising his voice slightly. In the process, Menard jumped to his feet and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. "I've just finished praising your creation. The Elite Guard performed magnificently today, and they are well-deserving of the title."

"They took a significant amount of casualties in the process though," said Menard soberly. "I'm afraid we'll need to do a good amount of new enlisting to get it back up to proper strength."

Bancroft waved his hand. "Never mind about that. Those are matters that can wait until we get back to Belfort. For now, they gave a very good accounting for themselves, and for that I'm grateful for your leadership. Now, let's talk tomorrow."

Menard winced like that was the last topic he wanted to discuss. As if on cue, a heavy round of thunder erupted in the distance--a persistent reminder of the weather conditions around them.

"Sire, if this weather continues, an attack in the morning might not be the best course of action," said Menard, treading the ground carefully. "We already struggled enough with the mud and the rain today. This downpour is only going to make the battlefield worse."

"Worse but not untenable," said Bancroft. "And it's not like we have to worry about the tanks performing again. Most of them are disabled after today so we don't have to fret about them getting stuck in the mud."

Menard winced again, an expression that was starting to get on Bancroft's nerves. At least his underling, Clark, had the good sense to disguise his facial expressions to mask his true thoughts.

"I understand that, Sire, but I believe our tanks give us a significant edge, especially if we go into battle with this army that already has them. I don't think it wise to attack without them, especially in the present conditions."

Bancroft crossed his arms in front of his chest and tapped his foot on the ground. "What are you saying, General? That you don't want to fight?"

"Not at all, Sire, but I think we need to choose the time and the place of our next fight wisely. I wouldn't want us to make any mistakes that we can't take back. I will get you your victory but I need the conditions to be right."

"The conditions to be right," muttered Bancroft, shaking his head. "Suit yourself, Menard. I won't interfere in a general's decision. I'm disappointed in you though. I was of the understanding that you wanted to crush Java's enemies just as much as I do."

"And I do," said Menard, finding a sudden fire within him. "My passion hasn't waned on this topic but what I'm asking you to do is to rely on my experience in the field. I will not give the order for the men to fight in suboptimal conditions."

Menard's outburst both shocked and pleased Bancroft at the same time. For one, he wasn't used to his subordinates showing so much passion, and it told him that Menard's head was still very much in the game. It was a welcome change compared to generals like Zander or Ryan, those who had long since lost their drive (or never had one to begin with).

"Very well, General, it shall be as you choose," said Bancroft. "If we can fight in the morning, then great. If we can't, well, then I will defer to your better judgment."

"You have my word that if we can fight tomorrow, then I will give the order at the appointed time," promised Menard.

Bancroft nodded his head and said nothing more. After all, there was still one way he could strike back at the enemy tomorrow.

It just wasn't on land.

*****

The following morning, Jack awoke to a muddy quagmire of a battlefield. The rains had barely slackened and when all it did was storm for several days in a row, it meant that nearly everything was caked in the thick muck of Javan soil.

As could be predicted, there would be no fighting on land today. Neither side showed any inclination to resume the hostilities from the previous day, which was fine by Jack. It would only allow his side to become more comfortable in their defense, making Bancroft's task that much harder.

For now though, Jack was awaiting word from Russ about the situation out at sea. Ever since the transports had unloaded in Lockhaven, the Western fleet found itself relieved of its primary burden. Now that the army was safely on the continent, it was now free to locate the Javans and attempt to force a battle.

As long as they had the advantage, Jack gave Russ the go-ahead to seek out the enemy and force a decisive fight. And from all the reports, it seemed like Reynolds was now jockeying for position, trying to find the right advantages of his own for the battle.

It only seemed like a matter of time, and that was why Jack kept mulling over the same idea that morning. The core of Javan power was built on their navy. It was what made all these fights in the last three years possible. A strong navy enabled them to humble the Occitanians and humiliate the Ruthenians. It made them powerful enough to reconnoiter the Fourth Vector while those wars were ongoing and it was also the source of the greatest threat against the Western nations.

Without the navy, Java was a toothless power.

It was that rationale that explained why Jack did what he did when word arrived from Russ. Like usual, just about any piece of news that wasn't delivered in person came through Twitch, and his visit to Jack's tent that morning was definitely fortuitous.

"Jack, Admiral Taylor had a skirmish last evening with Javan warships. He's reporting one cruiser with very light damage but he believes the main body of the enemy fleet is nearby," said Twitch, reading from the dispatch. "He believes a decisive fight will be upon us within the next two days."

Everything about Twitch's news perked Jack's interest. If a decisive naval battle was coming, he wanted to be part of it. If the Javans were this close, he wanted to do his part in the ensuing battle.

If the decisive fight that they'd been waiting on for so long was here, was it not best to get it over with?

The only problem was that he'd be leaving the army on its own, but that was almost a laughable thought. The army was in better shape being left with Greg and Ambros than it ever could have been with Jack.

At the end of the day, he was still a naval officer before anything else. And if there was fighting to do on the high seas, he was going to be there.

"Twitch, send word to Russ that I'll be joining him shortly," said Jack as he stood up, his decision made. "And also get word to Greg and Ambros to join me here as soon as they are able. You might as well tell Kat to come here as well. She's not going to like this very much."