TitoVillar
patreon
SCL Chapter 46: Advance and Deceive
🕑 Added 2025-04-18 00:39:51 +0000 UTCEarly morning, July 19 — Highway from Oakwood to Fort Howe.
A white layer of frost clung to the thorny Turaxis shrubs lining both sides of the highway. Under the harsh white glare of the headlights, they sparkled like crystal—nature’s own intricate works of art. In the depths of the darkness, distant howls of starving polar beasts echoed through the night. The frigid wind carried with it the bitter scents of blood and gunpowder.
Leading the convoy was First Squad’s heavy armored personnel carrier. A flapping Kel-Morian KM flag had been welded next to the right-side mirror. At the wheel sat Augustus. In the passenger seat, Second Lieutenant Reagan—the squad leader of Third Platoon—kept his eyes on the road. Behind them, the container-like vehicle bay was packed with fully armed Marines.
As they drew closer to Fort Howe, the shell craters in the road grew more and more frequent. Augustus had to maneuver the vehicle carefully, weaving around clusters of craters just to keep moving forward.
“We’re one and a half kilometers from Fort Howe’s first forward outpost. Marines, stay alert,” Reagan said over the platoon-wide comms, eyes fixed on the navigation screen.
“Lock and load.”
Augustus’s voice came cold and calm over his squad’s private channel.
His words were met with silence—followed by the crisp, synchronized clicks of rounds being chambered. In the tense quiet, everyone could feel the heavy thumping of their own hearts.
One and a half kilometers wasn’t much for an armored personnel carrier moving at full speed. As soon as Augustus and Reagan spotted the first wrecked roadblock, the silhouette of the forward outpost began to emerge: a steel tower, a semicircular bunker, and a cold gray ring wall forming a grim silhouette in the night.
“We’re passing Outpost Zero-Two-Zero,” Reagan announced. As the vehicle picked up speed, his voice returned—this time faster, slightly strained with tension.
Augustus floored it through the outpost. The walls glinted under the headlights, coated in a thermal-insulating compound. Just as he’d expected, the place was completely abandoned. Some of the main buildings were still burning, but the flames were faint and hard to see from the road.
“Keep moving. The outpost is deserted. Roadblocks are down—we’ve got a clear path ahead,” Reagan relayed over the comms.
“We’ll reach Fort Howe in twenty minutes.”
By now, Augustus could already hear the deep, thudding booms of the Kel-Morian Sea Dragon Legion’s signature heavy mortars. Now and then, bright flashes flared and vanished on the horizon.
The road ahead was surprisingly clear, allowing Augustus to accelerate even more. He was doing his best to play the part of a friendly relief force racing toward the front. Gradually, the towering hexagonal spires of Fort Howe came into view. Dead ahead, a pressure-sealed gate reinforced with metal spikes loomed larger and larger in the windshield.
“There are two Kel-Morian soldiers at the gate,” Reagan said. “Should we stop and let them question us?”
Augustus watched as the gate swung open. Two Sea Dragon Legion soldiers stood there, clad in dark blue powered armor, their chests marked with blackened wing insignias. They were signaling for the vehicle to halt.
“The more we talk, the more we risk blowing our cover,” Augustus said, hands tightening on the wheel. “My advice, Lieutenant...”
“Pedal to the metal.”
The two Sea Dragon soldiers were visibly confused by the sudden appearance of the convoy. They knew perfectly well that no additional assault units were supposed to be arriving tonight. All nearby Sea Dragon strike squads were already accounted for—so who were these forces flying KM flags?
Still, they hesitated to open fire. What if these were friendlies?
They didn’t want to be held responsible.
But by the time they realized Augustus wasn’t slowing down, it was too late to run.
In Augustus and Reagan’s line of sight, the two Sea Dragon soldiers looked as if they had thrown themselves against the vehicle. They were plastered against the armored personnel carrier’s windshield, their helmets pressed tightly to the glass. Seconds later, their legs were sucked beneath the wheels, and in the blink of an eye, their bodies vanished. The dozens-of-ton APC jolted as it crushed them under its weight.
Right behind, another heavy armored personnel carrier hit their already unconscious bodies again, hurling them away—and this time, they didn’t get back up.
“Boss, your driving sucks. Did you just hit a trash can?” Harnack asked over the squad channel.
“Nope. Two dragons.”
Augustus turned the wheel, and the APC swerved into another lane. At the end of this lane, the sound of gunfire was growing louder and more frequent. But aside from destroyed armored vehicles and the corpses of several Federal Marines, they had yet to encounter any enemy or friendly units.
“Where are you even going?” Reagan asked, glancing at the broken street signs. Many of the streetlights had already been shattered, and the vehicle was moving too fast for him to read clearly. “The Officers’ Wives Club? The wrestling arena?”
“Dear Reagan, you’ve managed to avoid every correct answer.”
At that moment, Augustus’s APC made a turn at an intersection, and Reagan finally spotted a fresh road sign: Landing Pad.
“I figured we were heading for the command center—or the armory,” Reagan said.
“Those would’ve been the Kel-Morians’ primary targets,” Augustus replied. “It’s been over six hours since Fort Howe came under attack. The chances those areas are still holding out are slim. Plus, our company barracks are on the far side of the fortress, and the landing pad—equally strategic—is actually closer.”
“Think about it. If Fort Howe is doomed to fall, what do you suppose Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool would do?”
“If it were Captain Warfield, he’d stay and fight to the death,” Reagan said. “But Vanderspool? I’d bet he’s running.”
“Exactly. And if he’s trying to run, he only has one option left—take a ship.”
Augustus’s vehicle drove up a ramp, and soon, the vast expanse of the landing pad came into view.
Roughly a dozen Sea Dragon Legion soldiers in dark blue armor were sprinting down the road a few hundred meters ahead of Augustus, backs turned as they ran toward the pad. In the distance, it was easy to make out two different units engaged in a firefight on the platform.
An APOD-33 transport craft, capable of carrying seven or eight Marines, was lifting off amid a barrage of spiked ammunition. Its thrusters flared with twin streams of blinding blue light. But before it could gain altitude, the craft was locked on. A nearby missile tower—now under the control of Sea Dragon Legion troops—fired a series of anti-air missiles.
In an instant, the transport exploded with a thunderous boom. The wreckage, wreathed in flames, tumbled from the sky like a burst of summer fireworks.
"Have the other armored personnel carriers slow down and stop," Augustus said to Reagan while slamming the brakes. The heavy vehicle came to a screeching halt. "No one is to open fire unless I give the order."
"Unless Sergeant Augustus gives the order, no one is to open fire," Reagan relayed over the comms channel.
"You don’t have to repeat it word for word," Augustus said, pulling the handbrake and glancing at Reagan seated beside him. "You’re the commanding officer."
"Everyone in the platoon knows who’s really calling the shots. If you left it to me, all I’d do is charge, charge, charge," Reagan replied, shrugging.
"All right, that’s on you, then." Augustus climbed out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him. He switched to the platoon-wide channel and said, "This is Sergeant Augustus. This is an order: dismount and form a single-file column. First Squad at the front, followed closely by Second Squad. Third and Fourth Squads will be positioned to the left rear and right rear, respectively."
At that moment, the armored vehicles behind them also screeched to a stop, lining up neatly behind Augustus. The dozen or so Sea Dragon Legion soldiers they’d seen earlier had clearly spotted them and were now quickly approaching, shouting something loudly. Yet, they remained restrained—they hadn’t fired a shot.
"Once I give the order to fire, First and Second Squads will advance with me. Third Squad will flank from the left—your targets are those enemy mortars. Fourth Squad, you're flanking from the right—your targets are the two surface-to-air missile towers next to the landing pad. Clear the area for potential airborne troops."
"Is that clear? I only want one answer."
"Yes, sir!" came the unified response, crisp and in sync—exactly what Augustus wanted to hear.
Once the squads of Third Platoon had formed up behind him, the Sea Dragon unit had already reached their position. They stopped just 20 meters away, much too close—and Augustus swore they would regret it.
"Stop right there. Which assault squad are you? Why don’t your vehicles have identification numbers?" the leading soldier asked. Among the dozen Sea Dragon troops, some were pointing their weapons at Augustus, while others seemed far less alert.
A weakness. Possibly a fatal one, but not enough to fluster him. So Augustus thought.
Under their watchful eyes, Augustus didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his right arm high.
"For the Sea Dragon!"
A unified "For the Sea Dragon!" echoed from behind. Before deployment, Augustus and Reagan had rehearsed this with the platoon. Chanting slogans was second nature for them anyway—after all, boot camp had been full of it.
Unlike other Kel-Morian units, the Sea Dragon Legion functioned more like a massive brotherhood. What bound them wasn’t a rigid guild hierarchy, but shared hardship, deep camaraderie, and the honor of the legion.
They viewed the legion as a family. Before charging into battle, it was customary to shout the word Sea Dragon. Leaders at every level of the legion commanded immense respect from their troops.
Odd as it might seem, that single cry had disarmed the soldiers before them—dulled their alertness as they basked in the rekindled glow of honor.
