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March 16, 1941

Waking up on a cot in my office to be handed a declaration of war was not my favorite way to start a day. Fortunately, even as Elya was handing me the missives from Ildoa and the Francois Republic, Visha was waiting behind her with a freshly brewed cup of coffee and a pastry from Heidler's Berun, fresh out of the oven. So it wasn't all bad.

A moment later I was at my desk, finished reading the mail and almost done with my breakfast. I took a sip of coffee to wash down the last few bites, then turned to Elya.

"What's the status of the evacuation?"

"Kaiserslautern and the surrounding area, clear through to the Rhine, has been fully evacuated," Elya reported. "The towns north of the Moselle will be evacuated before the Francois Republic's army reaches them. Saarbrücken has been declared an open city, and the citizens near the border who could not be evacuated have been instructed not to resist the Francois."

I nodded. "Good."

Unavoidably, the movement of our civilians would tip off the Francois as to our plans. What were they going to do, though? Not press forward the attack? I didn't think so. Any army that took pride in its abilities would love a chance to fight without having to worry about pesky civilians getting in the way.

The Francois Republic's military plans had always been premised on pushing all their chips into the center of the table at the first opportunity. General Lergen's strategy was having Germania follow suit. Both sides were confident in their armies. It wouldn't be long before we knew who was right, and who was screwed.

I looked at Visha and smiled. One way or another, this war would be over in far less time than the last one.

I turned back to Elya. "Is Koenig's group in place?"

Elya nodded. "They set sail last night. We received a radio report from them this morning, and sent them confirmation that we were at war."

I sighed. "I wish we could do more for Pullska."

Perhaps the shakiest portion of our strategy was the plan for the eastern nations of OZEV to hold off the Russy Federation for three weeks by themselves. That was the time that we needed to mobilize enough of the population to be able to spare soldiers for the eastern front. Pullska, in particular, had the only army that would stand between the commies and Berun. The good news was that the Russy Federation hadn't established any kind of fast acting invasion force as the Francois Republic had. The bad news was that once the Russy Federation got moving, they'd badly outnumber our eastern allies. We had to hope that the avalanche wouldn't bury us for at least three weeks.

"Reports from the Degurechaff Line say that morale is high," Elya said.

"The what?" I asked.

"Well, you did insist that they build it to such a high standard," Elya said, "and we did sell them most of the weapons and material they used, so they named it after you!"

"With that kind of name," I said, shaking my head, "they should hold out for three months, let alone three weeks."

What a crazy world. Of course, as happy as they were that I had led them into this war, that's how upset they would be if we lost it. Which reminded me, now that the war had started, I had a speech to write. I wasn't sure it was possible to divert the public's attention from the fact that I had bungled us into a three-front war, but I'd do my best.

ooOoo

March 16, 1941

Wilibald Koenig lay still in bed. There wasn't much else he could do. The bare metal ceiling wasn't much more than a foot from his nose. Space was always at a premium aboard a submarine.

He'd gone to bed early the previous night, exhausted after the long flight to the Pulish port, and now he was awake early in the morning. He should have tried to catch some extra sleep. Even the submarine's bedding was luxurious compared to what was waiting for him over the next few weeks. He was far too excited for that, though.

People said the Academy's training exercises were like war. They even said that aerial lacrosse was like a battle.

Those people were wrong. There was nothing like war. Nothing drew the utmost from an opponent like the actual fear of death, and there was nothing like the satisfaction of winning when the stakes were so high.

Koenig loved his wife. He was ecstatic when she told him they had a baby on the way. Still, though, when he'd been summoned off to battle, he'd gone with a smile on his face. He knew he was lucky to be married to a woman who didn't begrudge him his first love, even if she was only so open-minded thanks to the way that they'd met.

He felt the submarine shift around him. They were rising to periscope depth. He'd waited long enough. Time to rise and shine.

An hour later, he stood on the deck of the surfaced submarine. The cold wind pelted his face with a salty spray lifted from the top of the Baltic rollers. Off in the distance, the shore of the Russy Federation was barely visible in the pre-dawn gloom. Koenig barely paid his surroundings any mind, his attention fixed on the submarine's captain as he read from a sheet of paper that had been handed up the ladder. The man shook his head.

"It's war, then," he said, then looked up to give Koenig a salute. "Godspeed, Major."

"Thank you, Captain," Koenig said, returning the salute. He then leaned past the captain to call down to the waiting mages. "First company, let's go."

Twelve men came streaming up the ladder and poured out onto the deck. Each man, like Koenig, had a paddle strapped across their packs. Each man, also like Koenig, was dressed in a weatherbeaten but fully authentic uniform of a Russy Federation infantryman.

Koenig watched in satisfaction as they worked. He'd spent the better part of two years picking out candidates for his team. Every mage who came up through the Academy could fight, of course. But during his time in the far east he'd come see the value of more subtle talents. Every one of his men was the quiet, careful sort who followed directions and paid attention to what they were doing. Every one of them could wear the uniform of any one of Germania's hostile neighbors and speak the language at least well enough to pass for an average grunt. Every one of them was capable of clearing out a bar full of enemy soldiers without using enough magic to trip any nearby detectors.

He hadn't just scouted out capable students, he'd also taken the time to drive home the lessons he'd brought home from Sibyria. As a result, he was confident that he commanded the best group of commandos that the world had ever seen. He wasn't quite as confident as the Chancellor, who had cheerfully ordered their team of forty men to disrupt operations along a thousand mile front, but he certainly intended to do his best to live up to her expectations.

They were starting off on the right foot, at least. One man from each platoon had been carrying a rubber cube along with the rest of the gear. They each found a clear spot on the deck before pulling on the attached rip cord, allowing the compressed gas to inflate the boat. Each platoon tied their backpacks in place in the middle of their boat before working together to get their boat in the water.

Even the lee side of the submarine wasn't exactly calm. Fortunately, aerial mages were made of stern stuff, and the men were soon on their way. Koenig called up second and third company in turn, before finally taking his leave of the submarine aboard a raft with the rest of the command platoon.

Four aerial mages paddling together could move along at a pretty good clip. Koenig took a moment to enjoy the fresh sea air as the shore came closer. The beach seemed as deserted as planned. They hadn't seen another soul on their brief journey landward. Koenig could barely see the other rafts that he knew were in the water with him, but took comfort from the fact that nobody had sent out a distress call.

The pounding surf made for a bit of an adventure, but soon enough they were up and over and had beached their raft on the sand. He didn't waste any time piling out and dragging the raft securely up out of the sea, joining the rest of the battalion.

Mage blades made quick work of the rafts, reducing them to rubber scrap. A bit of physical enhancement let them smash their paddles into kindling with ease. The sea would take care of dispersing any evidence that they had ever been there.

Tracks covered, it was time to march all alone into enemy territory with nothing but their computation orbs and their shitty Russyan rifles for protection. Koenig was having fun already.

ooOoo

March 16, 1941

General Jean Hénault arrived in Saarbrücken an hour late. He checked his pocket watch one last time as he disembarked from the train, then did his best to put the matter out of his mind. In the last war, it had taken months of bitter fighting before the Francois Republic had reached even the outskirts of Saarbrücken. His men had captured it before noon.

It was just barely acceptable. The Francois Republic had been presented with a magnificent opportunity, and he didn't intend to waste it by dawdling.

Colonel Chesson, the leader of the scouting regiment, was waiting for him on the platform. At least somebody was doing his job properly. General Hénault stopped in front of him and returned his salute.

"Report."

"Nothing to report, sir," Chesson replied. "They have a sign up calling Saarbrücken an open city and nobody has so much as fired a shot at us. I still wouldn't order food at the local restaurants."

General Hénault waved aside the concern. They had learned from their last occupation of Germania to minimize their interaction with the locals as much as possible. "You've identified a location for our headquarters?"

"Yes sir," Chesson said. "An abandoned farm just outside of town, close to the main road. The truck drivers know where it is."

Chesson indicated the nearby freight yard. His scouting regiment had been fitted out with extra shipping capacity for this mission. Hénault could see the trucks that were in the process of being loaded from the newly arrived train. Chalk up another few people who had managed to do their jobs without his direct intervention.

Hénault carefully avoided pressing for any further details about the property. Time was of the essence. The important thing now was to establish the base that would serve as the command post for Francois Republican forces in Germania. If a farmer showed up later with a complaint, he could take up the question of compensation with the civilian government.

It would be General Hénault's duty to see to the initial buildup, from stakes and lines drawn in the ground to a neatly laid out set of tents behind some basic defenses, at least enough to house the men and serve as a working camp. It would be for the next wave to turn the camp into something more permanent. He'd be moving on with his men to strike at the Rhine industrial area.

"Very well," General Hénault said. "Keep moving north. I want a bridge over the river Moselle."

"You really think we can catch the devil napping, sir?" Chesson asked.

General Hénault felt his fist clench in anger. Rather than snap at the man, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette. He lit it and took a drag. He felt some of the tension leave him as he exhaled a cloud of smoke before he replied.

"It's foolish to attribute everything that happens within the borders of the country to one woman," Hénault said. "The more quickly we move and the more pressure we put on the enemy, the more likely it is that he—or she—will make a mistake."

"Yes, sir," Chesson replied.

Sometimes it seemed that half the army was paralyzed by the great encirclement they suffered during the Great War, and the other half was fixated on the debacle at Duisbuch. One reason General Hénault took such pleasure in being assigned the lead role in this invasion was that it presented him with the opportunity to exorcise the old ghosts haunting the Francois Republic and prove that the Devil of the Rhine could be beaten. The scientific application of overwhelming force, coupled with the army's doctrine of rapid attack, would show that the page of history had been turned and the Francois Republic had regained its rightful place in the sun.

Let the civilian government huff and puff about the economic necessity of war. General Hénault knew that war was necessary to restore the pride that was the birthright of the Frankish nation.

"If you do secure a bridge," General Hénault said, "you can expect all possible aerial and magical support in holding it."

"Yes, sir," Chesson repeated. He saluted, then made his way back to his men.

General Hénault was left to his own duties. He looked up as the first truck left the freight yard, then checked his watch. Forty-five minutes behind schedule. Not bad.

ooOoo

March 17, 1941

A hard day's march had seen them leave the coast out of sight and earned them a night's sleep under the branches of a desolate forest. Say what you want about Russy gear, at least it was warm.

The next day saw them finally hit a decent-sized road not long after they had stopped for lunch. Koenig led them south. His battered Russy map of the area suggested that they were on the road to Klaipeda. With the Russy Federation at war, there ought to be troops congregating in the area, being so close to Pullska. It was too early for Koenig to have any particular plan in mind, but he had a feeling that something would turn up.

He looked up from the map and took a glance back at his men and had to fight down a smile. It had taken a week of training to beat the habits into them, but the results were worth it. Instead of the high-stepping pride of an elite mage battalion, his men were shuffling along with the dispirited look of a Russy platoon who would just as soon shoot their lieutenant in the back as maintain a forced march. Teyanen, marching just behind him, was particularly well suited to his role as a long-suffering sergeant, face cramped up as if he were suffering a bad case of indigestion.

Koenig hoped the man was just playing a role. He seemed to have the worst luck when it came to military rations.

In any event, as Koenig gave his men one last looking over, nothing about them stood out. Marching through enemy territory, that ability would be just as important as the Type 99 computation orb that each man had concealed on his person.

Their disguises were put to the test a few hours later. Koenig heard their audience coming before he saw them. The rumble of engines announced the approach of a small convoy of trucks. The men moved to the side of the road. Koenig stepped out into the middle of it and waved down the lead vehicle.

The convoy ground to a halt. Koenig stepped forward and spoke without waiting for the other party to greet him.

"Is this the road to Klaipeda?"

In response, the door to the truck opened and a man jumped out. The shoulder tabs on his uniform proclaimed him a captain in the Russy Federation's army. Koenig took a hasty step back and snapped off an awkward salute.

At the same time, he took note of the fact that the man facing him most likely worked in logistics. To his eye, the good captain hadn't seen anything more dangerous than a bar fight in some time.

"Sir, sorry, sir," Koenig said. "It's just, none of the roads are where the map say they should be."

The captain studied him for a moment, then turned his attention to Teyanen. Koenig didn't have to look back to know that his second in command was very pointedly not rolling his eyes. To complete the picture, Koenig's lessons in the Russy language had come from his wife left him with slight but indelible traces of a foppish upper class accent.

Koenig had fought on three different continents and shared meals with fighting men from more nations than he could count. They all had their differences, but they had their similarities too. One thing he had found was that every language had a version of the old Germanian saying: the most dangerous thing on the battlefield is a lieutenant with a map.

The driver sighed. "Yes, lieutenant. You're on the road to Klaipeda."

Koenig stepped forward, clasping the man's hand in an obviously unwelcome handshake. "Oh, that's wonderful news. Really, such a relief. Three seconds."

The last bit was said in a normal conversational tone after activating a communication spell. Koenig had been keeping an eye out as his men had more or less naturally moved towards the stopped trucks and engaged the men inside in conversation.

The captain cocked his head. "What was that?"

"Oh, I was just saying, after the first two hours I really didn't-" Koenig said, before activating the communication spell again, "now!"

He yanked the captain forward and left him for Teyanen to deal with. For his own part, Koenig took a step, then tapped into a strength and reflex enhancement and leaped into the open door of the truck.

The man in the passenger seat was just starting to react. He was reaching for the gun holstered at his side. Koenig didn't bother trying to interrupt the motion, and instead chopped across his neck with the edge of his hand, hard enough to hear something crunch. His victim gave up reaching for the gun and instead scrabbled uselessly at his throat. Koenig grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him out of the truck. Once he was outside and no longer threatening to bleed anywhere important, a mage blade quickly ended his struggles.

Koenig dragged him off to join the rest of the bodies out of sight of the main road. He took a quick accounting while his men started digging an impromptu grave. They had taken possession of six trucks, each more or less fully stocked with army supplies. The twelve men accompanying the trucks had been killed without a single shot fired, and with only light damage to the vehicles.

It was a good start.

The next order of business was to track down the body of the unfortunate captain. Koenig plucked the rank insignia off the man's uniform passed it off to Teyanen.

"Congratulations on your promotion, comrade."

"It's an honor to be part of the revolutionary vanguard, sir," Teyanen said, before turning back to chew out a group that had paused in their digging.

Koenig turned back to his own work, rifling the captain's pockets. This turned up half a pack of atrocious cigarettes, a book of matches, a crumpled wad of cash, and a set of written orders. He idly fished out a cigarette and lit it as he skimmed the orders. After the initial coughing fit, it wasn't too bad... no, it was still terrible. You never knew, though, just which little detail would be the key to selling a cover story.

The orders, on the other hand, made for very pleasant reading. Koenig knew from his work out east that the Russy Federation liked to build up a nice big stockpile of supplies before it kicked off any major offensive. The good captain had been requisitioning material from the locals on orders to deliver it to just such a stockpile.

They had not only picked up some trucks to drive, but also somewhere to go.

March 21, 1941

General Hénault read through the reports in front of him with a sense of weary satisfaction. It seemed that all of his efforts since the army had started its dash north were about to pay off. It hadn't been easy.

The first day, especially, had been a mess. Men who were supposed to arrive in steady streams according to the train schedule instead arrived in fits and spurts. One enterprising group of officers made it to Saarbrücken by commandeering a taxi cab from Metz.

The men didn't show up on time, they didn't show up in any particular order, but they did show up. By the end of that first day the better part of thirty divisions had made their way to Saarbrücken. General Hénault and his staff made sure that they had a place to sleep and that they would wake up in good order. Or, at least, that the officers would know where their men were sleeping.

As much General Hénault had tried to keep the men ready during peace time, he dearly wished that he had been given some warning of the coming war. With a few days to whip the men into shape, they could have hit the ground running. As it was, the army found its bearing as it continued to move north. It took them two days to reach the Moselle, and by the time they crossed the river it was starting to feel more like the force that had stormed across Ildoa in record time. The forward units had even managed to capture three bridges fully intact, which meant that the river hardly slowed their progress at all.

Crossing the river brought them into the rolling hills and valleys of the heavily forested Eifel region, the Germanian extension of the Francois Republic's own Ardennes. A network of roads allowed the army to split up and continue forward without too much congestion, but the roads themselves were shoddy things. Degurechaff's highway building program had left this region untouched.

As much as Hénault tried to tamp down his subordinates' paranoia, it was hard not to feel the woman's shadow stretching out over them as they pressed on. The Germanians, it seemed, had decided to begin their resistance once the army had crossed the Moselle.

The first attack had come as a shock. A rocket artillery barrage had seemingly materialized out of thin air. As soon as Hénault had gathered himself and ordered the men forward, he received a report of a magical signature detected, fleeing the area.

The attacks had continued in that vein. A sudden assault, whether rocket artillery, artillery spell, or simple automatic weapons fire, followed by a rapid escape.

The rough terrain made aerial surveillance almost useless when it came to sniffing out these ambushes ahead of time. General Hénault had ultimately resorted to sending his own magical forces forward en masse to clear the forest before the main body of the army arrived. These succeeded in flushing out several would-be ambushers, although they were unable to chase them down. The Germanians had maintained their damnable speed advantage, even after all this time.

If there was one thing that the Francois Republic simply must obtain at the upcoming peace negotiations, it was the Germanian magical technology. Hénault could only imagine the things he could do with such troops under his command.

There was merit to the Francois Republic's approach too, of course. For all of their speed, the Germanian mages didn't dare to stand and fight. They would have been swarmed under by superior numbers. It was Hénault's guess that similar considerations had decided the Germanians against making their stand in the forested Eifel region. Mages were devastatingly effective in tight quarters, but the reduced range and visibility would strip the Germanian mages of their advantage in speed and mobility. If Hénault could face the Germanians with the magical battle on even terms, let alone in his favor, he would win in a rout.

More frustrating than his men's inability to bring any of the Germanians to battle was that not all of the ambushers had been flushed out. The steady drumbeat of attacks was reduced to the occasional pin prick, but each ambush still saw good men dead by the side of the road. There was nothing for it but to grit their teeth and continue the advance.

He had comforted himself with the knowledge that once they reached the Rhine industrial area, the Germanian mages would be forced to stand and fight whether they wanted to or not.

His scouts had reached the edge of the forest two days ago, and the forward elements of his army had caught up with them yesterday. Today, though, his army was gathered and ready to attack. After suffering several days of sneak attacks, they were more than ready to unleash their fury on the enemy. They were also faced with their first proper defense works of the campaign.

As detailed on the report he was reading, the Germanians had been harassing his army in order to buy time to fortify the final approach to the Rhine. The Francois Republic's army had gathered behind the abandoned city of Rheinbach. The city sat on level and open terrain, which persisted on a broad front to the north east for about ten kilometers before one last stretch of forest blocked the way to Bonnburg, the southernmost city of the Rhine industrial area. This wasn't the wild forest of the Eifel, though, and in fact the road directly northeast led to a cleared gap that allowed direct access to the city.

The Germanian fortifications were concentrated on this gap. They stretched out across the face of the forest to the southeast all the way to the Rhine. To the northwest, the fortifications continued on for dozens of kilometers at least.

General Hénault had no interest in racing north and west, trying to find the end of the Germanian defenses. Construction had obviously begun along the entire chosen front upon the declaration of war. Putting off the battle would just give the Germanians more time to shore up their hastily built fortifications while allowing the Germanian industrial machine to continue without interruption. Not to mention, moving further north would stretch his already tenuous logistical situation even further.

High Command had diverted two of his divisions to fortify a position at Kaiserslautern, both as a forward defense for Saarbrücken and as a jumping off point for future offensives. General Hénault himself had set three divisions to guard the various roads from Koblenz that might threaten his own supply lines. Even so, he still had twenty-five divisions available for the final push on Bonnburg. He had a thousand tanks under his command. He could expect lavish air support, and had direct command of nearly a thousand mages.

The Francois Republic, in its history, had assembled larger armies. Never, though, had it put so much firepower in one place. Nor had it ever combined such firepower with such amazing mobility.

General Hénault respected the Imperial war machine, even as it had disguised itself under the auspices of the Germanian Republic. All the more reason to end this war before the Germanians could hit their stride. If his army could smash through those five day old defenses and begin to put the Rhine industrial area under direct occupation, this war would be halfway over.

Audacity, and again audacity, always audacity!