08

Britannian Formidable-class land battleship Fortitude

Tobruk, State of Libya, European Union

February 18, 2025

A near silence dwelled over the bridge of the Fortitude as the battle continued to play, with all eyes either focused on their respective stations or upon the main monitor at the top of the bridge, where numerous icons were moving about. All across the screen, blue and red tinted signals moved through the lines and blocks that made up the city of Tobruk, a fair number disappearing every few seconds with a "LOST" banner taking their place, while the blocks that represented the buildings also broke and shifted within the gridline from whatever damage they received. The battle had been going on for over an hour now, itself having shifted within the city itself in half that time, and their enemy was fighting as fiercely as ever to keep them from taking the city, and with it the rest of Libya. Even so, for whatever amount of time and losses it took, it was clear that they, the Britannians, were winning the battle.

Standing toward the rear of the bridge, just a few meters away from the throne-like command chair his liege was currently occupying, Colonel Michael Augustus could only remain by and watch with everyone else as the battle was carried out. Even though he had served as his general's aide-de-camp since first arriving in Africa, all throughout having been present to witness his battles firsthand, he had to admit that his superior was thoroughly outdoing himself on this one. As the EU's last refuge within Libya, Tobruk had been a heavily defended target, enough that it had been speculated a certain enemy commander had taken particular interest in keeping it out of Britannian hands. And yet, with but a relative sized army and keen tactical sense, his liege had broken through the outlying defending forces, laying waste to their capital ships and the bulk of their forward lines in the process, and broken into the city itself and taken to street to street extermination of the inner defenses. Granted, his assault was further bolstered by three of the strongest knights in all of Britannia, but his liege had still accomplished what very few commanders, Britannian or otherwise, could have done. And those who could more than likely had the same blood and lineage as the general himself.

If this keeps up, we'll be marching on El Alamein by the end of the week. Augustus thought to himself while suppressing a grin, casting a corner glance toward his superior. The very man who was responsible for Britannia's campaign in Africa, and by extension, its successes within.

For his part, as Augustus saw from a corner glance, his liege looked over the battle with a somewhat bored expression. Casually laying his head against the hand of his right hand, the left still gripping the arm of his chair, the young general eyed the bridge's main monitor wearily, his amethyst eyes keeping watch over the various signals and movements within the screen like an eagle over a valley. However, whereas the rest of the bridge kept their own watches with rapt attention, lest certain details, or much more certain enemies, slip through their gazes, the general appeared almost slothful by comparison, as if he found the battle to be disappointing. Knowing the general as well as Augustus did, that was indeed the likely case. Especially as a certain opponent had yet to reveal himself.

"Reinforcements reported in Delta Three," one of the operators reported, her voice enough to dispel the silence momentarily. "Looks like another knightmare company."

Looking back up with a little bit more attention, the general took the information in stride. "Have the units in that area withdraw to Delta Two," the general commanded. "Then order nearby units to circle and ensnare. And be on the lookout for enemy movement in Gamma One."

Augustus raised an eyebrow to that. "My lord?"

The general smiled knowingly. "Delta Three is a feint. The enemy will be focusing more efforts in Gamma, to keep us from reaching their headquarters."

As if on cue, a slew of new signals emerged in that exact sector. "New units confirmed," another operator announced. "Ten Panther IIs and four Panther IIIs. Axe and Lance units are engaging."

Augustus didn't have to look up to see his liege's smirk. "Reinforce them with Hammer unit, as well as Eagle One. Once we break through that sector, it will be a short way to the enemy headquarters."

This time, the Colonel allowed himself to smile at his general's progress, especially as the aforementioned units took action against the new enemies. I take it back. At this rate, we'll be in Berlin a week from now…

Suddenly, one of the other operators looked up. "New enemy forces emerging in Epsilon One! Multiple units, numbers unknown!"

This time, the general frowned. It was more of an annoyance than a setback, but it was still something more that had to be dealt with. If anything, it showed him how desperate the enemy was getting, as well as reinforcing the notion that the opponent he had been expecting was not present. "Order Auriga Squadron to move in and engage," he ordered with the proverbial wave of the hand.

At that, Augustus arched an eyebrow. "With respect, General, that particular unit is…"

The general physically raised his hand that time. "I know what you're going to say Michael, just as I am well aware of Captain Ashra's reputation," he answered. "However, they're the closest as well as the best qualified."

He then settled back into his chair, arms rested at his side. "Besides, it's not like they're alone and unmonitored," he added, his eyes looking over a particular signal in proximity to that sector.

With a howl of bloodlust, Captain Ashley Ashra's custom red Gloucester charged down the street toward the European formation, casually skating around their machine gun and bazooka fire as if they were in slow motion, all the while his three squadmates could only push themselves to keep up. A few of the Sutherlands that were granting him and the rest of Auriga Squadron covering fire were less fortunate, the bullets and rockets mowing them down one after another, but Ashley hardly paid attention to them; as far as he was concerned, they were neither one of his unit nor had he even ordered them to back him up to begin with. All that mattered to him were the hellgrau tinted knightmares that lay ahead, the latest numbers to his long and distinguished kill sheet.

Moving straight up to his first target with blinding speed, Ashley smashed his Gloucester's shoulder into the enemy Panther II, causing it to tumble backward a few steps. As he had expected, the European built knightmare's armor was tough; tougher than its Britannian contemporaries as well uglier in Ashley's opinion, its bulky, spiked shouldered design making it appear like a stereotypical European soldier in full combat armor. A stereotypical soldier with a singular red eye on a track, which rotated around and flashed menacingly as it brought its machine gun to bear. Sneering, Ashley returned the gesture by deploying his factsphere, then smashing his lance straight through the enemy knightmare's head, obliterating it one stroke. He then withdrew the lance and jumped away, launching a grenade from the assault rifle in his opposite arm, destroying the entire upper torso, but not before the cockpit block ejected.

"Eleven," Ashley glowered as he landed back down, just in time to detect another Panther II come charging at him, its battle axe set for an overhead chop. Bringing the lance around again, Ashley deflected and knocked away the blade, then countered by launching his slash harkens, but the enemy devicer foresaw the attack and evaded both, twirling on his knightmare's landspinners as he did. Ashley retaliated by firing a burst from his assault rifle, but the Panther II banked around that as well, then returned fire with its own rifle, forcing Ashley to go into evasion as well, ducking and skating around the bullets while trying to keep a bead on his opponent.