Wolfran the Knight Avenger

In

The Last Crusade of Altraumzen

Episode 9: The Weight of Command

Wolfran despised the necessity of command. He watched as his knights used their jump jets, and versatility of their mechs to scale the smooth rounded walls of the keep. The structure was made to survive air strikes, and as such had many an alcove full of anti air turrets and missiles silos. Unfortunately, the inner sanctum of the fortress also contained a separate defense grid than the bailey and walls so the specialists were back to square one hacking this next set of digital security. They couldn’t wait any longer.

The rest of the skyfall regiments were converging on their position after using a series of runners and flairs to signal them. The jammer was still operating, and thus the movements had been slow and harried. The artillery on top of the keep had to be silenced as well as any of the air cannons still firing at the flyboys over their heads. Especially if they were able to survive passage past the curtain of hostile craft between the fleet and the skyfall units.

Yes, Wolfran understood as Captain it would be irresponsible of him to lead a charge into a fortified position, and be vaporized by the first plasma beam shot into their ranks. He could even accept his men needed him directing their assault from the rear, and not distracted on the frontlines contenting with golem guardians. Still, he felt the usual urge as the heavy infantry gathered into ranks outside the doors and the breacher drones were prepped at the gates.

Worse was the inability to share his frustration with any but his own deepest thoughts. A Captain was only as good as his officers, and they only as good as the trust their men put upon them. If he were to start leading every charge the men would start to question the honor, courage, and ability of the Obenrittenbruderns. If the Captain couldn’t trust them to their tasks, why should the men at arms?

“Relax Captain. The boys will save some blood for you on the inside. What would your mother think seeing you panting for slaughter like a starved hound over rotting meat? Beat me senseless she would for letting you go so raving mad that women flee at your very visage.” Konrad said from the open cockpit of his Magnus mech next to Wolfran’s open canopy.

Altraumzen was terraformed to be sure, though kept hellish filled with gasses and lava flows purposely by Ishtar. Breathing the air wasn’t all together pleasant, but all men needed time from the air purifiers in their mounts. They could keep you alive indefinitely if the life systems remained active, but as the usable air became more and more recycled a certain taste tended to coat the tongue and all manner of uncomfortable side effects persisted. Though none of these were deadly, none were enjoyable either. Thus when given an opportunity many a knight or men at arms would open their canopies and visors on prolonged campaigns to freshen their air. Konrad more than most.

The Magnus was ever a man of the woods, and rolling hills. If he was not honor bound to join in the service of knights due to his father’s lineage the man would’ve gone into the wilds as a hermit. At least until the heathen had developed a taste for tavern wench. Mounted life often chafed a wilderness man, and Konrad never tired of reminding his Captain of the fact.

“I was under the impression that Magnuses were given orders by their Captains Konrad. Not the other way around.” Wolfran said while never taking his eyes off the advancing troops. The light infantry were scaling the walls of the keep following after the mechs who were creating breaches for their insertions from the upper levels. If all went as planned, or as close as fate would allow, they would be pivotal in breaking the defenses at the gates and portcullises with light casualties.

“And I was under the impression that Berserkers weren’t made into officers. I hear it’s difficult to give coherent orders when your mind is endlessly filled with bloodlust.” Konrad said while lounging over his cockpit, and letting his leg hang haphazardly.

Wolfran grunted in response. He was in no mood for their usual game. His men were in there preparing to fight and die, yet he had no recourse but to sit on his laurels until they cleared the path. The knights needed their Captain alive. Especially for when contacting, and dealing with the irregulars when the jammer was put out of its misery. The Captain of the irregulars was an unpredictable sort with a disdain for most authority except for Wolfran thanks to a few incidents in their squire days.

“Captain, this Bloody Sythe. All positions report success, and preparations complete. Awaiting your order,” Wolfran lashed his intercom in a flash at the sound of Obenrittenbruden Walter’s voice. Time was not on their side. The other Skyfall detachments were arriving, but even with the laser defenses up they would need the jammer down and proper cover before the enemy could combine their drone swarms with artillery fire.

“Bloody Sythe, this is the Captain. Purge with Holy wrath.”

“With pleasure Captain,” said Obenrittenbruden Walter. The order was bittersweet. He knew the man would coordinate the first wave of the assault to perfection, but that meant Wolfran was not on the first wave. Salt in an open wound.

Blasts went off all over the keep, and the infantry started to crowd the breaches. The sounds of fire, and inhuman screams filtered over the wind. Yet, Wolfran continued to restrain himself. Wave one was only the infantry, and most were distractions and probes to draw attention from the selected breaches for the primary assault.

After a time the intercom crackled again. Obenrittenbruden Walter sent in the second wave which involved a few knight specialist teams assaulting the primary gate. They received heavy fire for their efforts, but more importantly the defenders were busy at the gate. They were not ready for the light infantry’s infiltration from the destroyed missile ports.

The gates blew in a terrific crash, and the cry went up from the knights as wave three with the bulk of the breaching force charging the ruined gates. They had orders to assault the moment the mammoth fortifications came crashing to the ground. Wolfran sealed his cockpit, and was halfway ready to join wave four when Konrad’s mount blew past him in a burst of exhaust from his jump jets.

“I was under the impression you wanted to join the assault Captain. Seems you didn’t desire your post in wave four half as much as you droned on about. You can join the clean up crew in wave five as I take my post with the fourth,” Konrad’s said without a hint of smugness in his voice over their communicators.

Wolfran starred in frustration for a moment. Considered cursing, and instead laughed. By the sounds over the intercoms the enemy were sequestered into a few rat nests and holes, but the scrimmage had been concluded in victory for the aggressors. His Magnus had his own way of reminding the Captain of his duty. Losing their commander to a lucky defender with a marksmen belcher was unacceptable. Taking the risk on an already beaten enemy was madness.

Sighing, Wolfran stomped his mount over to the specialists, and other soft targets like a child set to his chambers, or a woman retreating below decks during a pirate raid. Or even, dare Wolfran say, as a commanding officer fulfilling his duty no matter how shameful it felt or how badly he wished to tear into demon flesh. Ah, the weight of command truly would be his undoing if Ishtar’s minions failed to gut him first.

The Story Will Continue Every Friday.

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