The Surprise Attack

The night sky was silent, pierced by faint glimmers from the lamps scattered across the camp. The cold wind swept through the tents, heralding winter's arrival, while bearing the heavy breath of war. At the northwestern front, the 4th Legion and the 12th Legion were quietly preparing for a sleepless night. After suffering heavy losses from a surprise attack, the 12th Legion had somewhat stabilized. But for Lunamaria, this was merely the beginning. Nothing was certain yet, for war is always rife with unknowns.

She stood on the promontory, gazing over the camps of the 12th Legion. Silent, she pondered the strategy ahead. She knew full well that every decision to come required meticulous calculation, as they directly determined the survival of both legions. And today, she knew she had to act with greater resolve.

"Intelligence reports that Stratos is currently at the southern front. We will seize this opportunity," a familiar voice sounded beside Lunamaria. It was Leon Smith, commander of the 12th Legion, her ally in this campaign.

Back in the tactical tent, before them, three strategic strongholds of Nation rose on the simulation map, like impregnable fortresses, each rigorously guarded. Yet, she remained unshaken. She had studied every detail thoroughly—from defensive layouts and supply lines to the schedules of each guard patrol.

"Six assault groups!" Lunamaria declared, her voice calm yet forceful, cutting through the quiet space.

"We will strike simultaneously from multiple directions, splitting and destroying these strongholds before the enemy can respond."

"Infiltration teams will go in first, disabling communication systems and severing defensive lines from within. Once the signal is given, the main forces will encircle and wipe out all resistance. It must be swift, precise, and leave no room for an enemy counterattack." She issued orders to the commanding officers.

Leon nodded in approval, directing his subordinates to adhere closely to her plan. Though this wasn't his first time working with her, the audacity of her strategies never ceased to impress him.

As darkness cloaked the battlefield, the infiltration teams set out. Small, expertly trained units slipped silently through forests and ravines, advancing toward the three critical strongholds. Per her plan, she deployed three vanguard squads tasked with infiltrating and disrupting the strongholds' operations, paving the way for the surprise assault.

The first squad, led by Lieutenant Dorian of the 12th Legion, moved toward the plateau stronghold. Shielded by dense forest, they swiftly approached the guard zone, silently eliminating sentries. They then planted explosives at the signal stations, set to obliterate the stronghold's communication network within minutes. A thunderous blast echoed, the first herald of the storm to come.

The second squad, under Second Lieutenant Draka of the 4th Legion, targeted the armory and command post of the second stronghold, using cutting-edge sabotage gear to neutralize control stations. Their soldiers crept through layers of defense, poised to exploit the chaos sparked by the first team. Once they rigged the weapon depots with explosives and disabled the automated defenses, the stronghold would be crippled.

The final squad advanced on the logistics stronghold, a vital hub for goods and supplies. They glided like phantoms, aiming to sever supply routes and raze the warehouses in mere minutes. As flames erupted, painting the night red, it confirmed the plan was unfolding as intended.

With the squads in position, at the rear, Lunamaria and Leon led three main assault forces, primed for the frontal strike. When the infiltration teams' signals rang out, the three groups surged forward like raging tempests, fully encircling the remaining strongholds.

Lunamaria commanded the first assault group, charging toward the plateau stronghold. Energy cannons tore through the defensive barriers, while infantry stormed from all sides. Though the enemy fought back, the seamless coordination between the infiltration squads and the main forces soon plunged them into disarray.

Leon's assault group, tasked with hitting the central stronghold, executed a "tight encirclement, long-range shooting" tactic. Snipers wielded medium-range rifles to pick off resistance nests from afar, while lightly armed troops mopped up the lingering defensive lines.

The third assault group, led by the 4th Legion's deputy commander, struck directly at the transit stronghold. Using isolation tactics, they cut off all retreat paths for Nation's forces, throwing the enemy into chaos.

Gunfire reverberated across the battlefield, blending with deafening explosions and the panicked cries of Nation's troops. The relentless waves of attacks from the 4th and 12th Legions crashed like unyielding tides, shattering the fortified defenses piece by piece.

The sudden strikes stunned the stronghold commanders. Some ordered counterattacks, but her units had already enveloped the strongholds from every angle. No Nation unit could adapt in time to resist. The 12th Legion and 4th Legion swiftly claimed the key strongholds.

Inside the strongholds, Nation's soldiers struggled to regroup, but their efforts crumbled under Lunamaria's precise and merciless assaults. Her special forces teams plunged deep into the strongholds' cores, rigging armories with explosives and demolishing the last control stations.

After securing full control of Nation's command stronghold, Lunamaria signaled the army to press on with the plan. The enemy's faint resistance faded before her eyes. Her small squads had fulfilled their roles, severing all enemy supply and communication lines. Stepping out of the stronghold's command office, her gaze swept the simulated battlefield on her watch; Nation's territories were now hers.

"We've done it," she whispered to herself.

After hours of fierce combat, all vital strongholds of Nation's army in the northwestern region had fallen entirely to the 4th and 12th Legions. Nation's commanders were captured or killed, while most of their troops fled in disarray. Her legions now stood close to the northwestern border, and a plan had crystallized—a plan to pierce the defenses along Nation's frontier.

"We've secured a major victory," Leon approached Lunamaria, sweat dotting his brow but pride gleaming in his eyes.

"This is only the first step. The war stretches on, but today we've laid a crucial foundation." Lunamaria nodded, her gaze still icy as it fixed on the horizon.

Dawn's first light slowly bathed the northwestern border, marking the start of a new day. Within her, resolve grew stronger. Indeed, she would not relent, would not yield, and would not grant the enemy a chance to strike back. This battle signaled a fresh beginning, and the Organization would never fall.

At the southern front, after the triumph at Ashgel Valley, the air at Nation's camp seemed quieter. Enemy corpses littered the ground, mingling with the stench of gunpowder and charred soil. In the temporary command center, Lockon stared intently at the simulation map before him. Right now, he was wary of Stratos, who had just breached the defensive line in the recent campaign. Though the Ashgel Valley assault's success could mark a bold advance in the southern expansion, boosting his renown, he knew one thing: the man beside him was no pawn to be easily manipulated.

His calculating eyes lifted to Stratos, standing a few steps away. His steadfast posture and tranquil gaze only deepened Lockon's unease. He realized that any move to curb his influence from here on would only worsen matters.

"You've won, Stratos," Lockon said, his tone reluctant.

"From now on, Company VI-B is yours to command fully. But remember, this victory isn't yours alone."

"Understood. If there's nothing more, I'll take my leave," Stratos nodded, barely heeding his words.

Stepping out of the command tent, he walked to the cliff of Ashgel Valley, scanning the remnants of the campaign.

"Three broken rib pairs, punctured pleura, gallbladder effusion, shattered liver, intestinal bleeding, fully crushed cervical vertebrae from C3 to C5, broken right arm, severed anterior ligament. Lucky there's no brain damage. I'd wager the medics are still reeling from how fast you've recovered," a voice called from behind Stratos. It was Aker, the sole medic of section W.

"We know why," Stratos replied, expressionless, as if such wounds were routine to him.

"The greater the power, the steeper the price. That's what we all signed up for, isn't it?" Aker asked lightly, a trace of jest in his tone.

He didn't reply, merely stood gazing at the cliffs. More than anyone, he and the members of squad W knew the answer. Beneath the late autumn sun, what lay ahead— an end or a stepping stone—he couldn't tell.

Having gained autonomy over Company VI-B from Lockon, he swiftly organized raids on the enemy's outer zones. He targeted small yet strategic points like supply depots, communication posts, and exposed defensive flanks.

Under his command, small units moved like specters in the night. They struck fast, dealt heavy blows, and vanished before the enemy could retaliate.

One night, Stratos and his men raided a supply station deep in the marshes. They slipped into the guard post, exploiting the dark and the sentries' carelessness. Once in position, Stratos ordered the supply depot's destruction with magic, triggering a massive blast that rocked the area. Amid the inferno, he led his team to safety, leaving chaos and shock in their wake.

These raids not only sapped the enemy's strength but also sped up Lockon's main campaign. Yet, Stratos cared little for how his efforts might be credited. His focus remained on efficiency and the safety of those under his command.

After completing a string of sabotage missions, he returned to the main camp, where officers were assembling for the next campaign. While awaiting reports from other teams, he sensed something off. Indeed, since arriving at the southern front, no word had come from the western front, where Lunamaria and her 4th Legion were stationed.

"What's the situation in the west?" Stratos asked an intelligence officer.

"Sir, we've received no reports from the western front. There might be… a delay in communication," the officer faltered, bowing to evade his gaze.

"Delay? I don't recall Nation's communication system being so unreliable," Stratos frowned.

The officer stayed silent, head lowered awkwardly. He pressed no further, but unease flared within him. He knew Nation's communication network's efficiency too well. The absence of western reports couldn't be a mere glitch.

After reviewing mission reports, he stepped out of the command tent, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. A vague yet fierce worry swelled in his chest. Something was afoot, and he couldn't shake the feeling. He drew a deep breath, his hand tightening on the sword at his hip. He wasn't one to be easily fooled, and if someone was tampering with information, he'd face them head-on.

The sun rose, staining the southern sky red. Stratos knew this was just the start of a grander web of schemes lying in wait. For now, he could only bide his time and brace for whatever came next.