Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Within the bustling confines of the makeshift command post, a rhythmic symphony of artillery and their crew provided a grim backdrop as Brigadier General Lawrence Hargrove wrestled the landline from its cradle. Lawrence's stern face lined with the stress of leadership amidst chaos as his voice went taut as steel cables when he spoke.

"Sir, I’m doing everything possible to keep the situation contained.” The Brigadier general spoke as his aids were embroiled in their own frantic conversations with field commanders. “But I’ve got no lines, sir; I’ve got everything from the rangers to the local police forces mixed with the enemy out there.” General Hargrove paused for a moment before bringing a hand to his face. “I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold out, but it won't be long. I need those reinforcements, and I need them yesterday."

On the other end of the line, the voice of General Vincent Turner echoed with the gravity of the nation's highest military echelons. The hum of background activity was ever-present, hinting at the magnitude of nationwide mobilization.

"I hear you, Lawrence," his voice was like ground steel, unwavering amidst the pandemonium. "There's a total recall from Poland to Japan beelining it to Ohio, but they need time, time we desperately need you to buy."

Hargrove's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he surveyed the hectic room around him. Reports of units being overrun streamed in while his aids did their best to try to get control of the situation. "Time isn't a luxury we can afford, Vincent. The Air Force is keeping the… the dragons at bay, but they’re being attrited at an alarming rate, and I fear what he has on the ground won't stand a chance if those beasts descend upon us in full force. We're holding on by a thread here."

There was a long silence, filled only by the cacophony of artillery batteries working distant battlefields and the frantic movements of personnel within the command center. The maps spread on the table seemed to pulse with a life of their own, bearing witness to a clash of worlds that was as unimaginable as it was brutal.

Vincent's voice crackled back, carrying a sense of depression that mirrored the dire circumstances. "I understand, Lawrence, and I want you to know we're moving heaven and earth to back you up, but…” The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff sighed deeply. “But if these things break through and make it into any of the surrounding major population centers, the President has authorized a nuclear strike.”

The words hung heavily between them as General Hargrove sat down and placed a hand on his head. "God, Vincent…” He muttered in horror. “I’d never thought I'd live to see the day where that would be an option on our own soil." His voice nearly cracked while his mind raced to find another way, any way, to prevent such a cataclysm.

He could almost picture Vincent on the other end, in the well-lit rooms of the Pentagon, surrounded by the most brilliant military minds, all grappling with the unimaginable. Yet, here it was, happening in real time.

“... We’ll hold, sir.” The brigadier general declared that he cradled his head. “We’ll hold, or we’ll die.”

Vincent took another moment before his voice came through, frayed but steady, "Elements of the 1st Cavalry Division and the 82nd Airborne are already in theater, but their full strength won't be there another 24 hours.” General Turner’s words felt like a gut punch to Hargrove. The seconds stretched painfully, the weight of leadership and responsibility pressing down on him. "ISR is also reporting that the enemy's main body is pushing north; my recommendation is to start pulling back. Godspeed, Lawrence."

After the line fell silent, Hargrove slammed his field phone down and immediately stormed over to the expansive map sprawled on the table. He meticulously examined the crucial locations between their current HQ and Cleveland. "We need to implement a 'defense in depth' approach, draw them close, extend their lines, and bleed them relentlessly at every juncture," he directed, voice firm and resolute.

All of the officers in the tent rushed over to the table table as the general highlighted Zanesville, Wheeling, Marietta, and New Philadelphia. "Have our boys retreat to these positions, and these towns should act as our secondary line of defense, giving us some breathing room."

Hargrove continued, sketching out defensive points with swift, precise movements of his hand, "We'll stagger our defenses, using the natural terrain and any urban environments to our advantage.”

"We can use the highways as choke points, fortifying overpasses and intersections. They'll become kill zones for artillery and close air support.” Hargrove's Executive Officer, Colonel Reynolds spoke up as he mulled over the possibilities.

“I don't know about that, sir. The big lizards may be preoccupied, but there's still plenty of those small bastards flying about. They’ve already proven they can pick apart our rotary aircraft.” Major Lee, the HQ’s Operations officer, chimed in.

Hargrove shot a firm glance in Major Lee's direction. "Listen, gentlemen," he began, his voice gravelly and resonating with a gravitas that commanded immediate attention, "We aren't in a position to be shy about the attrition rate of our aircraft. I want anything and everything in the air; we can’t afford to hold back.”

“We need as much of our forces INTACT when we get to New Philadelphia.” The General’s finger then slammed down on Akron, just below Cleveland. “Because this is where we’re making our last stand. We hold there, or we die there.”

Silence settled heavily upon the room, the gravity of Hargrove's words sinking into every individual present. Every officer in the HQ maintained a stoic face as they glanced at each other, but a maelstrom raged inside each of them. With a silent nod, the HQ staff dispersed to get to work, leaving Hargrove standing alone, leaning heavily over the map.

-

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT

A thunderous roar resounded overhead as an A-10 Warthog cut through the smoke-filled sky, making a devastating strafing run. Its 30mm Gatling gun unleashed hellfire upon the fantastical horde out in the open field, mowing down swathes of monstrous creatures and armored beings. The sheer force of its firepower carved a clear path in the battlefield, giving DuPont and his men a brief reprieve from the relentless onslaught.

But as quickly as the Warthog had entered the scene, it began to climb and bank sharply while its engines howled as it sought to evade a new threat. From the dense treeline, two massive winged monsters erupted out of the tree tops, their wingbeats causing gusts of wind that knocked over some of the lighter creatures below. With a horrendous snarl, the beasts set their predatory gaze on the retreating aircraft, their leathery wings cutting through the air with a speed that was at odds with their size.

Instant recognition spread across Lieutenant DuPont's face after seeing the Warthog’s merciless gun run had gutted the enemy force’s right flank. “RESET LEFT!!” He Bellowed to his men as he pointed to the glaring vulnerability amidst the chaos.

“RESET LEFT!” His men echoed the order as groups stood up and repositioned themselves. In their haste to replenish their dwindling numbers on their decimated flank, the enemy had left a noticeable gap in their formation. Their magical barriers flickered inconsistently and ultimately winked out as a torrent of machine gun and rifle fire ripped into it.

Suddenly, a titanic figure surged from the chaotic depths of the enemy lines. This humanoid behemoth towered at an imposing height of nearly 15 feet, its large, portly abdomen starkly contrasting with the masterfully crafted armor it wore. Wielding a colossal metal shield in one hand and a menacing metal club in the other, the brute launched into a furious charge across the open expanse towards the treeline.

Friend or foe, everyone’s attention was redirected to the armored monster. In response, a relentless hail of gunfire shifted to the giant, only to be deflected effortlessly by the massive shield in its grip. Even the normally devastating rounds of .50 Cal machine guns seemed to effortlessly bounce off as the ground shook with each thunderous step.

“BACK BLAST! BACK BLAST!” One of the operators from that Special Forces group DuPont had met just an hour prior yelled as the man aimed his Carl Gustaf at a monstrous figure.

With a squeeze of the trigger, a deafening blast resounded as the anti-tank warhead tore through the air in a definitive arc before ultimately finding its mark. The monster couldn’t even register the threat as a searing white-hot jet of molten copper pierced the massive slab of metal in its hands and forged a path of devastation through the creature's flesh.

However, the giant wasn’t the only casualty as the force of the explosion expanded violently within its vast body and ejected out of its back into whatever poor soul was brave enough to follow behind it. A group of those small lizards and armored humanoid figures were completely showered in shattered bone fragments and shards metal.

Seeing another opportunity, DuPont bolted from this fallen tree he was using as cover to the nearest machine gunner. Tapping the side of his helmet and the Lieutenant pointed to the group of exposed magic users and shouted, “Light them the fuck up!”

Without even skipping a beat, the machine gunner shifted his fire left and sprayed down a group of robbed individuals who were hastily erecting a new line of magical defenses. The machine gun chattered incessantly, and each bullet that was found that slammed into the bright barrier sent out ripples of distortion until a few rounds started to poke through.

The robed figures were a mismatch of individuals who seemed to possess varying degrees of skill, and under the relentless hail of gunfire, their coordination broke down. The entire left flank barrier crumbled, and in its absence, death followed. DuPont’s platoon and the National Guard seized the moment and dumped everything into the exposed horde.

No mercy was had as the enemy’s morale broke and their formations crumbled. The shimmering blue barrier fell in its entirety as they turned to run for the opposing treeline, leaving themselves completely exposed and unprotected against DuPont’s Platoon and the remnants of the entrenched National Guard Company.

Chatters of machine guns and the blasts of shoulder-launched munitions tore through the horde like a scythe through wheat, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. Soldiers, who had just moments before been holding on to their lines for dear life, avenged their fallen brothers as they mercilessly cut down the invaders.

“CEASE FIRE!” Captain Duggen’s voice suddenly echoed as he ran up and down the line. “I SAID CEASE FIRE!”

With reluctant obedience, the symphony of violence and destruction dwindled to a grim silence, punctuated only by the moans of the wounded and the crackling of burning debris. Soldiers hesitated, their fingers lingering near triggers as they surveyed the shattered remnants of the horde, wary of a potential counterattack.

Taking position beside DuPont, Captain Duggen swiftly brought up his end user device, and glanced down at the dynamic tactical battle map displayed on its screen. "Command's ordering a retreat order," he stated tersely, his eyes darting between the device and the aftermath of their battle. "We need to use this lul in the fighting to get the fuck out of here and I need you and your Bradleys to hold the rear.”

The thumps of the Bradleys main guns echoed out in the distance engaging whatever was on the main road. “I’ve got too many wounded and too many civilians to move fast and you’re the best equipped to shield us as we fall back," Duggen continued as his brows furrowed.

“Roger that, Captain.” DuPont replied while glancing down at his own end user device.

He hadn’t noticed it, but his platoon was several kilometers away from the main body of their battalion. He zoomed out on his tactical map and nearly gasped at what he saw. It was a sea of red blinking icons indicating heavy enemy positions and lines of contact and yet around their immediate vicinity, the map was relatively clear. Somehow, they had ended up in a pocket of minimal resistance while the majority of the enemy forces seemed to be concentrated at Cambridge High School that was a mile or two away from the main road.

Shaking his head, the Lieutenant turned his attention back to Captain Duggen and replied, “It looks like it’s pretty clear from here to the marked staging area.” DuPont snapped his device closed against his chest and looked around at his men. “We won’t have much time, but we can load the wounded in the Bradleys and make our way back to the rear.”

DuPont's gaze then shifted to the main road and saw massive muzzle flashes of one of his Bradleys between the gaps of thick brush. “Plus, those things have been firing non stop. They should be pretty low on ammo by now.”

The Captain nodded gravely, realizing that their window of opportunity was far too narrow for comfort. “Fires and air support are sparse too. They’re concentrated in other areas, it was already a miracle how one of the special forces guys got a fast mover to even respond.” He sighed, bringing a hand to his head. “We need to move now before it's too late.”

With a decisive nod, DuPont picked up the radio and began issuing concise commands, setting the withdrawal into motion. The Captain mimicked the action, ordering his men to start corralling the civilians and prepare the wounded.

As the encampment erupted into a flurry of action as soldiers worked tirelessly moving equipment while preparing the wounded and the civilians for evacuation. The air was thick with urgency, the harsh undertones of barked orders and the mechanical roar of vehicles coming to life forming a harsh atmosphere that traveled through the entrenched position.

A little farther from the buzz of activity, the group of special forces soldiers kept their eyes trained on the areas where the invaders had retreated, waiting patiently for anyone foolish enough to stick their head out.

SNAP

The muffled yet still loud report of a suppressed rifle pierced the morning air. Behind the trigger was a soldier named Richard Schwarz, the team’s resident sniper. A towering and pale figure with a wild and untamed beard reminiscent of a Viking, he was a living testament to the strength and perseverance of the Jäger of old.

“Dipshit…” The operator sneered as a figure with what looked like rabbit ears clutched their chest and treated back into the foliage. “Hey, Cole, I dunno if my rifle is penetrating these guys. I didn’t exactly bring anything other than 7.62.” The man said, turning his head to his Special Forces Operational Detachment-Alpha (ODA) team Major Patrick Coleman.

The man bore the kind of features that could easily blend into any crowd, yet held an innate quality that demanded respect. His platinum blonde hair was neat and closely cropped, he was the picture perfect definition of a leader of elite soldiers. His short beard, a golden stubble really, was meticulously maintained, giving a rugged charm to his otherwise unassuming visage.

Looking over to his right with his crystal blue eyes, Cole acknowledged Schwarz’ concern with an annoyed grunt. “Maybe we are, maybe we aren't.” He shifted his position slightly, keeping a keen eye on the ever-moving boundaries of the forest before them. The underlying tension seemed to have multiplied, becoming almost a physical entity in itself.

“But it seems to be doing something seeing they’re dipping their heads back in after we hit ‘em.” the Major continued, stretching his neck to the side. "Just keep popping them. It’s not like we can do anything about it right now.”

Schwarz shook his head in disbelief of the entire situation. “I mean, I’m still in fucking awe.” He said, shifting the rifle in a more comfortable position. “When they first threw us out here, I expected aliens, not… Lord of the Rings bullshit.”

As the strained sounds of suppressed laughter rose, Bennett Moran, the ODA team's engineer, couldn't hold back any longer. He was a noticeably tall individual with a lanky build, which contrasted with the muscular physiques of some of his team members. “Ya, maybe we can ask one of the dragons if Sauron’s behind this,” he quipped with a mischievous smirk on his face..

"I mean, I wouldn't count anything out." The team's medic, Elijah Drake, chimed in this time while rubbing his thick scraggly beard. The man rolled his sleeves up to reveal the warm hue of his earthly brown skin as an attempt to cool down during the hot summer night. “I did blast a fatty cosplaying as a Balrog with a Gustaf.” The medic laughed, smirking at Coleman.

Coleman simply shook his head in derision. "Fucking nerds..." He muttered before refocusing on the tree line.

“You’re just jealous we have hobbies outside the army.” Elijah quipped, the grin evident in his voice even as he kept his eyes peeled on their surroundings.

Bennett chimed in, "Yeah, Tolkien is a masterpiece. Besides, it’ll go a long way to familiarizing yourself with our new friends here, since we’re effectively being invaded by Narnia."

“No, no. Cole’s definitely right.” Schwarz interjected as he squeezed the trigger, ending another scout too foolish not to keep their heads hidden. “You’re both nerds.”

“Fucking nerds, to be exact.” Coleman corrected.

A silence fell, punctuated only by the sounds of distant gunfire and explosions of intense battles. Occasionally, a stray artillery round or streak of magical energy would wizz by overhead, a surreal reminder of the blend of technology and mysticism that defined this conflict. The team hunkered down in their position, the forest offering them a semblance of protection and camouflage against the chaos of the outside world.

“Do you think they have elves?” Elijah suddenly spoke up. “I’d do an elf.”

Before anyone else could respond, Bennett gave the medic the side eye. "You’d do anything, degenerate."

Coleman placed a hand on his head to subdue the growing headache. “Oh, for fucks sake…” He sighed, knowing another round of their incessant bickering would start up again. And like clockwork, Elijah turned his head and narrowed his eyes at the engineer.

But Major Coleman interrupted the spat before a word could leave the medic’s mouth. “Alright, shut the fuck up now, please,” he begged more than commanded, rubbing his temples in evident frustration.

Amused snorts from unseen members of the ODA team resounded further down the line. Another bout of silence reigned as the group waited for their conventional counterparts to hurry up with their preparations.

However, Elijah could not help himself as a retort flew Bennetts's way. “Fuck you.” The medic said.

“No, fuck you.” Bennett immediately shot back, knowing the insult was coming.

Coleman's growl of annoyance was drowned by the crackle of their radios coming to life. "Baron, this is Viking. Be advised that a large mass of enemy forces are starting to converge on your location. We’re going to saturate the area with artillery, ETA 20 minutes, how copy?”

After glaring at the two idiots, Coleman grabbed his push to talk and responded, “Roger that Viking, Baron copies all. Baron, out.” He turned to his Elijah and threw his head towards the makeshift encampment. "Alright, let's do this shit."

Without needing further prompting, Elijah stood up and followed Coleman to help speed things along.

As the two navigated through the dense brush, Coleman looked up and frowned. He wasn’t able to properly process the sight of enormous building sized dragons chasing after fighter aircraft that were trying to desperately keep their distance. It felt like a fever dream especially when his eyes fell upon the absolutely gargantuan golden being spitting fire like a fire hose while twisting and turning as if physics was just merely a suggestion.

“Maybe we are being invaded by Narnia…” He muttered as he picked up the pace.