Chương 245: Chapter 318 - The Battle of Alatishad

General Hanaran had never heard of Zhuan Li before the day the world was turned on its head by the Prophets, but several of her staff had. As a social theorist, some of her ideas had been brought to the reform faction of the military. The work had been ridiculed and respected in equal measures. Then, Zhuan had been imprisoned for treason and sentenced to death. Then, apparently, made Prophet.

In her assessment, Miran was the better tactician, but Zhuan was her superior in encouraging cohesion and making logistics flow smoothly. However, Hanaran mostly wanted to know wherever the Prophet had found General Nagasoma. Any general could follow doctrine based on old wars. It took a special kind of general to innovate in war, to see openings that others couldn't. Nagasoma was quickly proving to be the master of quick counter-attacks.

The Akanans had learned that small groups of well-coordinated assault teams could make progress within the growing rubble of Alatishad. Wherever the Akanans pushed, Nagasoma would quickly have the company taking the brunt of the attack withdraw while nearby companies moved in from the flanks. Her defense of Alatishad had been masterful, able to hold ground even as the Akanan airships bombarded the city from afar.

The Akanan center had ground to a halt against the city, and thus far, she'd also stopped any attempt to encircle the city by moving around it to the north while Hanaran held the west fork of the Setarab. However, there was only so much they could do against such numbers. Hanaran had heard that Akana logistics would be taking a hit, but they still had to deal with the materiel that was in front of them now. But Nagasoma had a plan for that too.

Akanans had largely withdrawn from south of the city, not wanting to attempt a contested river crossing when all the bridges were either held or broken and artillery was nestled in every canyon and cave. They'd committed most of their strength on the north side of the river. That had left Hanaran free rein to reposition her forces to the south of the city, sneaking several divisions across the river over the past few nights. Now, the operation to throw the Akanans back and bring relief to Alatishad was under way.

The two of them waited alongside their teams, eying the map on the table. Flag markers showed a sea of Akanan blue, gathering northwest of Alatishad, but unable to advance. It showed considerably fewer red flags scattered throughout the city and in the surrounding countryside.

The problem the divisions north of the city faced was that their logistics were stifled as long as the Akanan army was there; the defenses were embedded in the ground, but supplies needed to travel above ground where the terrain offered no cover. Without relief, attrition would wear them down.

Therefore, Nagasoma's strategy was simple in concept: Hanaran's second army group would punch through the Akanan southern front, reclaiming the tunnels and defensive networks they'd abandoned in their retreat, then swing north, encircling the remaining Akanan army group.

That would force the Akanans to reinforce their southern position; they couldn't afford to let it collapse, because letting the Ominian's Army take the south bank of the Setarab would allow them to destroy the barges and boats that were supplying the northern army. That, in turn, would allow the second pincer to close. One of the staff entered from one of the diviner's rooms.

"Sir, reports so far are good. There's pockets of resistance, but most of them are getting bypassed so the advance is continuing at rapid pace. So far, no major response from the enemy. The 22nd division says they'll enter the village of Nahrquaria in the next few hours." She handed over a list of reported positions to the staff, who dutifully moved the red flags of the Ominian's Army into their new positions.

Hour by hour, Hanaran and Nagasoma watched as that line of red flags moved across the southern portion of the map. In the adjoining rooms, there were thousands of conversations taking place. Cartographers discussed ambiguous reports, trying to narrow down where regiments actually had ended up versus where they thought they were.

Captains routinely sent remote messages into command with new requests for firing missions, support, supplies, or direction, all of which were processed by various teams; logisticians recorded the movement of supplies, their abacuses clicking away; intelligence officers compared the reports coming in to update command on enemy movements; colonels coordinated with their captains to ensure the operation remained on track. What arrived in the command room was an infinitesimal fraction of all that information.

There was a balance to be had between being overwhelmed by information and underreporting. As the situation developed, Hanaran began to get that sense of unease she felt when a battle felt off.

"Intelligence, confirm the dreadnoughts are still hovering northwest of Alatishad and that none of the Sorcerer Elite has been spotted moving south." There was a moment as a message was relayed, then returned.

"Confirmed, general," a staff member said.

"The diviners just checked that, and are using glyph readings to watch movements of mechanized divisions. Even a camouflage spell couldn't hide from that." Nagasoma understood her unease.

"Perhaps Cearsia has seen the development of the northern forces," she said. As the Akanan army had advanced, it had left a salient of Ominian's Army forces north of them; Nagasoma had been reinforcing that salient with soldiers from Mahatan, sending the trained infantry forward while less experienced soldiers remained on the defenses.

The second part of the plan was, when Cearsia sent forces to reinforce her south, to have that northern force move southwest, creating a second pincer that would cut the northern army off. The Akanans had been concentrating so much of their army as a hammer to break Alatishad quickly that they'd neglected their flanks and rear.

"She should still be sending some sort of response. What's the situation like in the north?"

"The northern divisions are reporting good progress, sir," a staff member said.

"They've begun assaulting what we believe is the Akanan 56th Infantry Division. There's some defenses, but they don't appear to have prepared for a real counter-attack. Several forward regiments are already encircled." The day continued, and the generals broke for lunch. Hour by hour, the envelopment continued. By now, the Ominian's Army was encountering fierce resistance, not because it was well organized, but because of the sheer weight of numbers they were fighting.

Intense fighting had erupted near the south bank of Setarab, but an Akanan destroyer and six gunboats had been sunk by artillery, along with two supply barges. At some point, a special courier delivered a report that Prophet Mirian had just departed Mahatan. It was stated that she was returning to Mayat Shadr, but Hanaran recognized the code phrase used; she would be "unavailable" for two days. Zhuan and Nagasoma's plan had already accounted for that. By now, Nagasoma was looking triumphant.

Hanaran was still nervous. She knew Marshal Cearsia. Akanan and Baracueli officers had frequently met, gone through maneuvers and wargames together, and dined with each other.

"Something's wrong. This isn't like her," Hanaran said for probably the tenth time in two hours.

"All diviners are on the lookout for Akanan movement. Until they detect the buildup of the counter-blow, there's no point trying to guess where it will be directed."

"There's too many mechanized divisions by the city. Cearsia knows she can't move spellcarts through Alatishad. She's still planning a northern assault, then." Nagasoma frowned.

"That would be suicidal. The defenses between Mahatan and Alatishad are second only to Alatishad's. Ammunition will only run out in the next two weeks. If Cearsia moves them through that corridor now, without degrading the defenses first, the Akanans will take casualties not seen since the Emerald Emperor's defeat in the Second Battle of Saising. There's been a few firing runs on the outer defenses, mostly targeting the anti-air artillery. It's insufficient preparation for committing an assault.

And, she's continuing to commit infantry to Alatishad." Hanaran continued to study the map.

"She's about to be cut off in the south, and she's already losing the river." The general glanced down at another report that had just come in from the 7th division that was part of the northern assault.

"Akanan artillery simply stopped returning fire against your northern assault… when the positions are captured, there's no ammunition, no foss… an entire Akanan division, withdrawing fast enough it's nearly a rout… what is this? Cearsia doesn't make mistakes like this." That was when Prophet Zhuan walked in. Everyone in the room performed a quick bow.

"How progresses the battle?" she asked. General Nagasoma smiled.

"The southern pincer is nearly closed. The north is dealing with pockets of resistance, but continuing to make good progress. The Akanan central army groups will be forced to pull back. They have no other choice."

"Hmm," Zhuan said noncommittally.

"Where's the Prophet's Guard?"

"Alatishad. We can redirect—""No. Keep them between Liuan and Mayat Shadr. Hanaran, withdraw any elements from your first army group you can spare and redeploy them to the northern defensive line." Zhuan bent down, looking over the flags across the battlefield. More to herself than anyone, she muttered, "No move to Mahatan, because you're scared the leyline will be cut. But why not move south? The defenses were weaker there. Surely she doesn't know about…" Hanaran delivered her orders.

Moving two more divisions across the east fork of the Setarab would take time, and would leave the southern defenses greatly depleted. If Cearsia did aim the counter-blow south, she might be able to do a lot of damage. Then, an hour later, the reports began to trickle in.

"Akanan bombardment just intensified on the northern line." Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Nagasoma quickly moved into action, checking in with her colonels and assessing the situation. Zhuan was busy reading a logistics report. The man next to her who had provided it was sweating, face blanched and breathing rapid. The next report came in five minutes later.

"Massive infantry movement into the northern line. At least two army groups. Diviners have picked up indication of the 40th Akanan infantry division and the 65th leading the charge." Hanaran boggled at the report as one of the staff members moved several of the flags on the map to just north of Alatishad, then placed down a market indicating an ongoing engagement.

"Those Akanan divisions were holding their rear! The northern salient reported encounters with them just three days ago! No wonder they've been losing ground… wait, why is she sending the infantry in? A few minutes of bombardment isn't going to do anything to our own artillery. She's sending them into a slaughter!" Zhuan suddenly stiffened and handed back the logistics report to the staff member. He took it, stumbling as he nearly fainted, then withdrew. The Prophet came over to the map.

"She committed infantry to the northern line? Just infantry, no shield engines?" Hanaran stopped grinding her teeth.

"Yes. It's… these reports can't be right. They're overcounting again. Those infantry have no cover!"

"General Nagasoma, your assessment."

"Our encirclement is working. The Akanans have been building up near Alatishad for some time, but our defenses there are estimated to last two weeks against constant bombardment. No general should be ordering an assault on that line. Infantry charging across open ground into artillery. There'd be tens of thousands of casualties in a matter of hours. More, it sacrifices every strategic position. Marshal Cearsia would lose her southern army group entirely.

She'd lose access to all supplies from her west, all contact with reinforcements from Urubandar—if she doesn't deal with the divisions encircling her right now, she'll lose everything. Cut off from the logistical tail, the Akanan army won't last a week. Less, if they don't commit a significant portion of their arcanists and spell engines to gather water spells once they're away from the river." A staff officer burst into the room a moment later.

"Akanan Sorcerer Elite just deployed! They tested the Mirian illusion over Alatishad. It withdrew, but… they lost several elite sorcerers to anti-air fire. They know the real Mirian would have pressed the advantage, so we have to assume—""—that they know she's not present, yes," Zhuan finished. Her frown deepened.

"General Nagasoma, I apologize. This is my fault for not monitoring the tactical situation more closely. You've carried out this operation admirably. However, you have been thinking like a general, not like a prophet." The room grew silent as all eyes turned to Prophet Zhuan.

"Liuan is directing Cearsia to send in the infantry first so that the artillery expose their position. Then, she can suppress those batteries and commit the mechanized divisions and the airships to the corridor she's suppressed. She's making a move on Mayat Shadr." General Nagasoma bowed, her eyes widening.

"But… the casualties she'll take…"

"And if Liuan Var intended to live out the rest of her life in this timeline, she wouldn't do it. But what do casualties matter to her if the timeline will be erased? A failed timeline on Enteria means the death of everyone. I promise you, she hasn't blinked at the deaths. They are as meaningless to her as the sand the blood will fall on. You cannot understand how used to death we Prophets have gotten. Liuan Var does not intend this timeline to persist.

All future decisions made at this command table must reflect that. Now that you understand that, understand why I am ordering all available divisions to move to Mayat Shadr as fast as possible. All levitation-capable mages and all of our airships should immediately begin following and harassing the flying column aimed at Mayat Shadr." Nagasoma was still stunned.

"Aimed at… but she hasn't yet…"

"Send the orders now. I'm moving to assist the Prophet's Guard personally." With that, Zhuan strode out of the room, crystal scepter appearing in her hand in a flash of light. Hanaran's blood chilled at the thought of what was happening right now. That explained why there were so many mechanized divisions near Alatishad. That explained why the airships hadn't moved to assist. That explained why the Akanan rear units had no fuel. We've been thinking too much like generals, she thought.

She shook herself to clear her head, then started issuing orders.

Elias clung to the side of the spellcart and prayed. There was nothing more to do. When the remains of his company had been redeployed to the center—where it was rumored soldiers were getting actual fire support and the occasional cooked meal—he had thought he'd finally escaped the hell that was the northern front. He hadn't realized that the four other hells would be here. The air that sped by the spellcart was acrid with burnt sand and electrified air.

The shield around the spellcart flared again as an artillery shell went off nearby, crackling with lightning and spewing sand everywhere. The cart swerved, wheels gutting into the sand and Elias's arms strained as he gripped the handholds. Then a shell came down only twenty meters away. The shield flared—and broke. Elias could hear the driver cursing as she swerved around the crater and the wreckage of two other spellcarts.

Elias's heart dropped as he saw them—one of them wasn't recognizable as anything except slag. The other had been torn apart as was still crackling with electricity.

"Get that shield back up!" someone shouted. Philia, the only person from Elias's old company he knew, shouted that she was working on it. He looked up. Above, drifting in the dusk light like wrathful clouds, the three dreadnoughts moved with them. Those hulking airships that had been so inspiring seemed so far away now. Even as their cannons coughed out fire again and again—what did that matter to an ant like him? The spellcart hit a bump.

A wheel from another spellcart kicked up a rock that spat backwards at him, smacking him in the leg. He swore. Then it kicked up something else, splattering him. Belatedly, he realized it was blood. Looking around, Elias felt bile rising up. There were corpses everywhere. Men and women with rifles lying dead. Bits and pieces of bodies scattered. Burning craters. We're dead. We're all dead, he realized. To his front and behind were the spellcarts, desperately winding across the crater-pocked desert.

To his left and right, it was just corpses scattered about the rocks. It was like they were another feature of the landscape. Sand and rocks and bodies as far as he could see—which was blessedly not far as dust and haze occluded the dusk light. Then a shout—a man, his arm missing, hiding behind a tiny rock. He was waving at the spellcarts as they passed by, and Elias thought he heard the word "please!" in the wind ripping by him—but they were already gone. The drivers had orders not to stop for anything.

Another deafening explosion went off, and he couldn't even say where, just that his ears were ringing. They passed by another wreck, and then, to his horror, Elias saw one of the skiffs that was laying down fire in front of them simply explode. The debris rained down far ahead of them. A few minutes later, just after Philia fixed the shield engine, they passed something that might have been its remains. Or maybe not. Ominian protect us. Ominain protect us. Ominian protect us, kept running through his mind.

As another explosion went off, and behind them, another spellcart was turned into slag. His head whipped around, as if seeing might do anything to protect him, but that was the worst part of the terror: there was simply nothing he could do. Should have stayed home. Should have stayed on that factory job. Another explosion. Another prayer. There was nothing more he could do.

From the deck of the Might of Liberty, Grand Marshal Cearsia stood next to Prophet Liuan, back straight, lips tight. From below, another artillery round screamed up and smashed into the airship's shields, which flared with light. Cearsia didn't blink. Artillery was erupting from the ground with brilliant streaks, painting the dusk with a thousand lines of light. When heretic artillery knocked two more of their skiffs out of the sky, the airships drifted down in spirals like falling leaves.

She didn't blink then, either. Even if the artillery had been silent, even if the wind whipping past them had quieted, they were too high up to hear the screams. Yet, she could imagine them as vividly. The plan was working. Every bone in her body had screamed at her not to do it, but she had. Liuan had explained it to Cearsia, and Cearsia had explained it to her officers, who had in turn had explained to the soldiers below: The heretic prophets had nearly completed their leyline weapon.

If they didn't destroy it in the next few days, they were all dead anyways. What had happened in the seas north of Tlaxhuaco would look like nothing compared to what would come next. Leyline detectors had confirmed a dip in leyline readings near Mahatan, just as Prophet Liuan had predicted. When the Prophet had heard that, her jaw had clenched, and Cearsia had seen the rare emotion pass across her face. Below, the Akanans knew that they were dead men walking.

That if they didn't succeed, the heretic prophets would wipe away all of them, and all of Akana Praediar. Every city would be turned to black glass, as they had during the Cataclysm. Cearsia had repeated these words, even as doubt had wiggled its way through her blood. Thus, she had devised a plan that no marshal should have ever conceived of. Below, she watched the massacre of her own forces. The infantry had gone in with only a cursory effort to suppress the enemy defenses.

Hearts hardened, they had still broken within an hour and had either fled the field or dropped to the ground, unwilling to move an inch further. The heroes among them were quickly torn apart by enough spellfire to blacken the ground. Next, the artillery had opened up with counter-battery fire, and the spellcarts had charged in. Every one that they could spare.

She could imagine that too: thousands of spellcarts, moving in desperate columns, drivers' palms sweaty with terror as they pressed down on the operator glyphs, driving madly into the enemy. Infantry and arcanists packed into every cart, some soldiers clinging to the sides, a simple shield engine the only thing between them and a rain of arcane death. She could see those columns now, just below the three dreadnought airships. She could see the smoldering wreckage of hundreds of spellcarts.

All around, shields flashed along with the barrels of artillery. Cearsia had planned the attack to coincide with the setting sun, knowing that even that little bit of blinding light might help keep a few more of her soldiers alive. Now, she didn't want to know the casualty numbers. Not that her officers could provide anything except wild estimates. Too many had died too fast. Worse, she was abandoning every Akanan behind her to certain death.

Leaderless, with no spellcarts, no logistical support, and no airship or arcanists, the army would fall. She had condemned them, too. But it had worked. Only another few miles, and the Akanans would be through the defensive line that stretched between Mahatan and Alatishad. The losses they had taken were staggering, but all that would remain past this were isolated defenses and then whatever last line protected the ruined city of Mayat Shadr.

They would advance as rapidly as any army had to get there in the two days Liuan had alloted her. She'd done the impossible. Cearsia's eyes darted to the side for a brief second, examining the look on Prophet Liuan's face. It was expressionless. No remorse. No pain. She wasn't wearing her mask, but she might as well have. Her dark eyes were like pits. Cearsia tried to match that blank firmness. As her eyes burned and watered, she told herself it was from the strong wind they were facing into.

Below, the desert was watered with blood.