[b]'Sir, we're running out of time! He'll get awa-'[/b] Bons' plaintive voice was cut short by the distinctly warped sound of ragnoline going up; a barrel the officer had been using as an adhoc table had combusted and Meulemann wasn't entirely convince that he hadn't heard shots fired. From their vantage point a hundred metres away, he could see the remaining soldiers scatter in confusion, convinced that they were under attack. The Valkyria must have answered his prayer, leading another Gallian team to the same objective as himself; in that case, he had a duty to assist his mysterious comrades. [b]'Ten rounds, rapid fire.'[/b] The four soldiers opened up at the same time with two semi-automatic rifles and two sniper rifles raining death upon the remaining Imperials. As the enemy dropped like flies and melted back into the buildings surrounding the CP, Meulemann cast his gaze in the direction the remaining tank was firing, spotting a pair of blue figures sprinting haphazardly down an alley; must have been their mystery allies. One stumbled into an Imperial soldier, leaving the Captain seconds to line up a shot. Tarquin allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction as the soldier's head exploded in a pink mist, before tracking back up the alley behind him to put fire on his squadmates. By the time he ran out of targets the other Gallian troops were well out of sight, leaving him with a lone Imperial tank shelling every possible sniper nest. He would have stayed in the hopes of getting a lucky shot, but soon found himself dragged to his feet and hauled from the wrecked house by Krauss and Varrot, with Bons leading the way northward to Squad Four's rendezvous point.


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It was hard to hide his childish grin as Harald claimed the radio kit before him. As the others policed the bodies of the artillery spotting team, he went to work on their maps and binoculars; they would only get one, maybe two salvos before Imperial command figured out what was going on, so he had to make it count. [b]'Monitor Four here, heavy fire support needed at... grid reference five seven four by three three nine, fire for effect.'[/b] Thank the Valks that he had taken the time to listen before cutting the team down or else they'd be lost for what to say. After a long moment, the radio crackled. [b]'Confirmed Four, sending in three, two, one... Ordinance sent.'[/b] The three of them paused, listening for the telltale shriek of incoming Imperial rockets... it didn't take long. The way the missiles arced high up into the sky on a trail of silver would be beautiful if he didn't know how bad life was about to get for those at ground zero. Four dozen rockets landed across a kilometre square of the inner city, vaporising entire streets with the unquenchable fires of pure ragnopalm. Harald tried to take solace from the knowledge that sacrificing half of Darktown had wiped out a company of enemy armour, but even empty, the place was like a part of his soul. It hurt to leave it, let alone see it burn to cinders. The radio crackled again, the clipped voice of the unaware artillery officer coming through. What would the poor barstard think when he realised what he just did..? [b]'Monitor Four, I've got reports of Gallian troops in your area; assess damage to target, then withdraw, over.'[/b] Toying for a moment with the idea of giving another set of coordinates, Harald abandoned the idea; too risky. If the officer realised his error he could just as easily drop those missiles on Harald's own position. Behind him the others had started up their stolen APC, draping a spare blue shirt over the Imperial insignia as a token attempt at an analogue IFF. The three of them drove off at speed, leaving the radio squawking the increasingly worried voice of the Imperial officer.

It was getting dark by the time the last of Squad Four reached the rally point at the northern grain silo. The Sergeant had set a tight perimeter around the building, guarding every avenue of approach; when Meulemann and the rest of the squad arrived, they were greeted first by suspicious pickets and raised guns. It didn't help that two of their number were from other squads; Bons, last survivor of Squad One and Private Dresner from Nine. Once everyone was assembled, the Captain called them all together at the squad's stolen APC. [b]'Well... Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Let's see, we have... eleven souls. Eleven from one hundred and twenty... I pray that others were able to effect a retreat as we were.'[/b] Meulemann paused for a moment, a deep weariness showing through his otherwise stern countenance. [b]'... We must reach Fort Breda before noon tomorrow. The rest of the regiment will be massing there for deployment and it would not do for my company not to be present, even in our... current state. I... I must rest. Sergeant, please take over...'[/b] The Captain turned away uneasily, before settling down inside the APC to sleep. His actions confused Harald for a moment, until he realised that Meulemann must have been in his fifties at least; with all the minor injuries he had suffered and the stress of the day, it was a wonder the old man was still on his feet. [b]'Well.'[/b] Harald cleared his throat, getting back to the task at hand. [b]'There's enough space in the APC for all of us, so nine will rest while one drives with one on watch. I'll take first watch, Sykora you're driving. We'll switch out after three hours. Questions? Good. Get some rest, I think we're going to need it.'[/b]


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[u]0430 March 22nd 1935 EC
Fort Breda, Seven miles south of Randgriz, Gallia[/u]

The APC finally trundled into Fort Breda in the early hours of the morning, flanked on both sides by Gallian troops and escorted directly to the command area. The Captain was the first to dismount and meet the delegation awaiting them, all high-ranking officers and their attendants. The Sergeant watched from a distance as Meulemann saluted crisply and was marched into the command tent; from the other officer's body language it was clear that they were the first survivors to reach the camp. With the officers doing the important bits and the escort wandering off, he took it as meaning that he and his men were dismissed. After interrogating a stray soldier about the camp, he roused the remaining sleepers back in the APC and he gave them all a tired but genuine smile. [b]'Well, we made it. Captain's dealing with the paperwork so I think we're stood down for the moment. Come with me, all of you; the mess isn't open, but there's a NAAFI over there. My treat.'[/b]