Chapter 43: Siege (3)
Seeing that figure, the escort team’s morale surged, their shots growing sharper.
The [Valkyrie]’s gaze swept the battlefield coldly, then raised its right arm.
The armor’s arm panel opened, revealing a built-in missile launcher—
Target locked.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh—several small missiles streaked out with white trails, precisely striking enemy vehicles.
Boom-boom-boom—explosions erupted, shredding the once-arrogant raiders, blood and metal flying.
The remaining Wanderers swerved, trying to flee.
But Seraphina’s support units, coordinating with detached escorts, counter-encircled them.
“Surrender or die,” the queen’s voice boomed through the armor’s speakers, a cold death sentence.
The raiders had no intention of surrendering.
“Go to hell, Eisenburg!” The bald brute leaned out his window, flipping her off.
A chorus of roars followed.
They charged the encirclement, some igniting explosives for a suicidal strike…
Seraphina didn’t waste words.
Her engine hummed, and she leapt down, sprinting toward the nearest enemy vehicle.
The [Valkyrie]’s systems roared full throttle, carving craters in the ground, her speed a blur…
Bang!
Metal crumpled like paper under her grip.
She tore the driver’s door off, yanking the driver and seat out, tossing them into a sand dune ten meters away.
The man tumbled mid-air, landing with a heavy thud, motionless.
“Retreat! Retreat! She’s not human!”
The raiders scattered, their bravado collapsing into fear.
Some abandoned vehicles, bloodied, stumbling across the sand…
“—Target confirmed.”
“—[Valkyrie]-class exoskeleton.”
A voice crackled through the comms, making her frown.
Public channel?
The signal jam should still be active…
What was this transmission?
Before she could process, three massive figures rose from the dunes.
Three different-model power armors charged toward the [Valkyrie], each bearing the [Purification Church]’s holy emblem, radiating a pressure rivaling hers.
“A trap?” she replied coolly over the channel.
The escort captain’s voice trembled: “Your Majesty, we’ve been played?”
Three Church envoys led more [Church] forces, converging with the [Wanderers].
Their gear and coordination far surpassed the initial ambush.
The earlier attack was bait.
“First meeting,” the lead envoy spoke through the public channel. “The real hunt begins now…”
“Interesting.” The [Valkyrie] cracked its knuckles, metal grinding.
“Been a while since anyone dared challenge me like this…”
As the envoys prepared their assault, rotor blades thrummed overhead…
A heavy attack helicopter approached from Eisenburg—
Its Vulcan cannon warmed up, glowing red, rocket pods on its wings primed…
A true sky tyrant.
This overwhelming force froze the scene, even the envoys halting their charge.
“First meeting—”
“My gift.”
Seraphina raised her arm, flipping them off, her shoulder-mounted rocket pod opening, targeting the stalled envoys.
“Like it?”
…
Inside Eisenburg’s monitoring station, alarms screamed, splitting heads.
Flashing indicators bathed the command room in blood-red…
“General! Large force detected at the south gate!” a comms officer’s voice shook.
“Initial estimate… over 4,000!”
The commanding general, a grizzled man in his fifties, snapped up, face ashen.
A scar ran from his temple to jaw—a memento from a beast tide five years ago.
“Four thousand?” He strode to the monitors, boots thumping. “Zoom in.”
The operator’s fingers flew, magnifying the image…
The screen’s contents made everyone gasp.
—A black mass of people advanced from distant hills, a writhing shadow devouring the ground…
Far more chilling than imagined.
Leading were ragged refugees: white-haired elders hobbling with canes, children crying for mothers, women clutching infants, teetering in the crowd…
A facade.
Behind them, the [Purification Church]’s true force—
Rocket-loaded vehicles crept forward under civilian cover.
Heavy mortars…
Anti-tank missiles…
Even self-propelled artillery…
Hidden behind the refugee tide, waiting for optimal range…
Church soldiers in uniforms herded the innocents with rifle butts and bayonets.
Any who tried to flee or fell were shoved back or kicked down…
Human shields.
The battlefield’s most inhumane tactic.
“How dare they!” a young radar operator cursed.
If Eisenburg didn’t fire, enemy artillery would tear them apart.
If they fired, they’d kill innocents.
An unsolvable gambit, a vicious curse…
A death trap they had to face.
“Damn it…” The general swayed, dizzy, teeth grinding, fists creaking. “These monsters!”
“Sir, what do we do?” his aide asked, frantic. “If we fire…”
Bang!
“I know! I damn well know!” He slammed the table, veins bulging, shaking the monitors:
“Get me… the queen’s channel!”
The comms officer worked frantically, then shook his head: “Sir… Her Majesty’s signal’s been cut.”
“What!?”
“Five minutes ago, all top-level comms were jammed. No connection…”
The general’s face grew grimmer, his white whiskers stark in the dim light.
He knew what this meant…
The enemy wasn’t just militarily prepared…
—They’d mastered the intelligence war too.
Eisenburg was infiltrated deeper than expected…
“Then get the deputy channel!”
“Deputy Evelyn’s signal is also…”
“All cut off, huh!?” he roared, voice echoing.
Young operators exchanged glances, some wiping sweat.
No one dared speak…
A comms soldier rushed in, holding a note:
“General! Her Majesty’s handwritten order!”
The general snatched it. Two words, in Seraphina’s flowing script:
[Open fire.]
“…”
His fingers trembled, staring at the words.
“Sir?” his aide whispered.
He closed his eyes, images flashing through his mind…
Seconds later, he opened them, eyes bloodshot with resolve.
“My orders…” His voice was low, resolute. “—All fire points, prepare to engage.”
“But, sir, those people…”
“Eisenburg has 200,000 souls! 200,000!” He whirled, scar vivid under the lights. “Four thousand…”
“Not because we outnumber them… but because… because…”
He paused, choking back a sob.
“This is our home…”
“There are no civilians in war…”
“None… none!!!”
“Only enemies!”
“—And us…”
The command room fell silent, save for the hum of equipment.
“Artillery units!” His voice rang out: “Load 155mm high-explosive shells! Instant fuses!”
The comms officer froze: “General?”
“I said high-explosive! Instant fuses!” His eyes blazed red.
“And…” His fists tightened: “Tell the mortar teams, use 120mm, direct fire… max charge!!”
“One shot… end it… contact detonation…”
“Tell the kids to aim sharp…”
He glanced at the weapons expert: “Thermobaric stock?”
“Uh… about twenty rounds…”
“Load them all, prioritize dense areas… don’t let the Church exploit them…”
“And,” he softened slightly, turning to the comms soldier, “tell the front-line boys, post-battle… they get a week’s leave…”
“Execute the queen’s orders… my orders.”
“—Don’t let them near the walls…”
“Not one.”