Summoning America

Author’s Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

I will be taking a holiday break in observance of Christmas and New Years. Manifest Fantasy and Summoning America will return on January 9, 2024.

Hawthorne and the Seventh Fleet will return after a coverage of the Battle of Durnsbury. 

You'll like Manifest Fantasy more than Summoning America.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/75057/manifest-fantasy 

Note 2:

Chapter 169 is now out for all Tier 2 Patrons and higher! Tier 2 Patrons and higher will be able to read one chapter ahead!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd

– –

 

January 14, 1641

Orisun, Mu (GVE-Occupied)

 

Flats felt his nose wrinkle at the thick scent of cigarette smoke, deciding to open a window in the town hall’s conference room to air it out. As the morning air of the nearby forest swept in, it carried away the stale odors of overnight strategy sessions. He turned back to face his staff.

 

Colonel Raditz was the first to break the silence. “General, the latest reports from Annleton and Karndale confirm our diversionary tactics are in play. The enemy’s attention is divided.”

 

Flats nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. “And Durnsbury?”

 

Major Meissner, with a map spread out on the table, pointed to several marked locations. “Reinforcements have arrived there. An extra battalion, likely a response to our movements in Orisun and elsewhere.”

 

Raditz interjected, “Their numbers have increased, but so has our momentum.”

 

Flats leaned over the map, his eyes tracing the lines and symbols that represented the battlefield. “Numbers alone don’t win wars,” he mused aloud. “It’s how you use them. And we will use ours to maximum effect.”

 

Meissner adjusted his glasses, looking up from the map. “Our Fourth Armored is ready, General. But with the added battalion, we’ll need to adjust our approach for Durnsbury.”

 

“Adjust, but not relent,” Flats replied firmly. “We have the advantage of armor and now, air superiority. With the American mercenaries distracted in the Northgard region, there shall be nothing to contest our Guti Maun units.”

“Indeed, General,” Raditz agreed. “The 12th Sky Corps merely awaits your command.”

 

Flats turned to Meissner. “Detail, the revised disposition of our forces. Start with the armored units.”

 

Meissner nodded, pointing to the map. “Our reinforcements have filled the gaps in Ulfar Company and other units from the recent battle. We’re at full strength now, with Shafers ready to lead the charge after the 12th’s finished up their runs.”

 

“Good.” Flats leaned over the map. “Do we have any updates on the central district?”

 

Meissner replied, “We’ve lost contact with several agents, but a few managed to slip in, disguised as refugees. The central district is confirmed to have anti-tank guns covering the major streets. We’ve identified several positions along the outskirts of the train yard, and confirmed some electronic targets previously identified via aerial reconnaissance, but could not venture further.”

Raditz, studying the new pieces on the map, added, “The Muans will likely deploy their 105s along these main roads. Our Shafers and Raptors can take side streets for flanking.”

 

Flats sighed. No matter what strategy or tactics they introduced, carving out a path block by block was inevitable. “The Muan mages will be a wild card,” he mused. “Reports suggest they have a small contingent from Agartha specializing in earth manipulation. Madar shows high concentrations of magic along the main streets here. They could turn these streets into death traps.”

“We can have the 12th bomb the nearby buildings; clear a path for our advance,” Raditz suggested. “We can have Einherjar and the other Grazer artillery units add these targets to their lists as well.”

 

“Alternatively,” Meissner said, shifting Gra Valkan units away from the main roads, “we can advance through these unevacuated sectors. Recent intelligence shows the complete desertion and fortification of the main roads, but these areas here are still unevacuated. Maneuvering through populated zones may compel the Muans to hold back on certain heavy ordnance, reducing the risk to our forces.”

 

“Do we have time to make the adjustments?” Flat asked. They were scheduled to begin the attack tomorrow morning; they had just under 24 hours to revise the routes.

 

The officers nodded. “The urban planning of Durnsbury is rather symmetrical,” Meissner explained. “Using alternative routes will increase the time it takes to reach the railroads, but are comparatively safer, assuming we can tie down enough of them along the main routes.” He marked a few other routes that led to the railroad in the central district. 

 

“Hm.” Flats reviewed Meissner’s proposal. “Very well. Make the adjustments and prepare the troops.”

 

– –

 

Durnsbury, Mu

 

“Sir! Sir! New intelligence from the Americans!” a young lieutenant called out from his communications station, holding up a sheet of paper.

 

Colonel Anderas, a tall figure with a stoic demeanor and an aristocratic mustache, turned sharply toward the officer. “What’s the word, Bramwell?”

 

“Valkies are mobilizing their air force, sir,” Bramwell reported, his voice shaky. “American intel suggests it’s a prelude to a bombing campaign. They’ve spotted heavy bombers gearing up – Guti Mauns, by their account.”

 

Anderas furrowed his brow, taking in the information. “Guti Mauns… our Stingers and Marin fighters won’t reach those altitudes. How reliable is this intel?”

“As reliable as it gets, sir,” Bramwell replied. “Unfortunately though, they won’t be able to get eyes on the area for another hour.”

“Bloody hell,” Anderas cursed. Dealing with the untouchable Guti Mauns without capable interceptors was already a nightmare. And now, they were in the blind? The whole bloody situation was fucked.

Captain Renard, a burly redhead who had a sturdy presence, stood at attention. “Shall we move the anti-air units, sir?”

 

Anderas was shaken from his anxious thoughts. “No, Captain,” he replied thoughtfully. “It’s unlikely the Valkies know where we’ve hidden them. Instead, we must focus on safeguarding our troops and civilians. The Gra Valkans might be aiming for high-value targets – our defenses along the main roads. We must expedite civilian evacuation. Warn them of the potential for Gra Valkan bombings. And get our medical and emergency response teams on standby.”

 

Renard nodded. “Understood, sir. I’ll get the lads moving. And what of our ground forces?”

 

“Reposition them,” Anderas ordered. “The main roads are obvious targets; we need to move them away. Use the evacuated urban areas for cover. We need to minimize our losses from these bombings.”

 

Anderas continued, this time turning to an officer from the Air Corps. “Have all of our units been relocated away from the main airfields?”

 

The officer nodded. “They have, sir. They’ve been spread out along our alternate, hidden fields.”

 

“Alright then, good.” Anderas’ gaze lingered on the officer. His affirmation was a small victory in the grand scheme – not enough to turn the tide, but enough to buy more time for fleeing residents.

 

Turning back to the map of Durnsbury, Anderas pondered the Gra Valkan assault. No matter what strategy he could come up with, it would inevitably end with a decisive defeat. He did all he could – he asked for a regiment’s worth of reinforcements, he asked for the American mercenaries, but they were stretched too thin. 

 

As he stood there, lost in thought, the shrill blare of sirens pierced the air. Almost immediately, a radar officer rushed toward him. “We’ve got at least 80 aircraft inbound,” he reported, “radar just picked them up, they’ll be here in less than ten minutes.”

 

Anderas nodded, looking around. His staff were already in the midst of gathering essential documents and communication devices – anything that could be removed was dismounted and brought downstairs. Unfortunately, a significant chunk of their equipment couldn’t be flexibly repositioned; they had never expected a bombing campaign from the west, much less of this scale. “Let’s get to the bunkers. We can coordinate from there.”

 

Anderas moved through the corridors, escorted by a small retinue of guards and staff carrying what they could. They went down the stairs toward the basement, which opened up into a cavern with large steel doors at the far end. The bunker was a stark contrast to the bustling command center above – barebones and lacking furnishings aside from what was necessary for survival and coordination. 

 

Inside, the staff quickly set up a makeshift command post, reestablishing communication lines. Anderas took his position around a table that was surrounded by various consoles and stations, eyes fixed on a radar screen showing the approaching Gra Valkan bombers. “This is it,” he thought to himself, “the first true test of our resolve.”

 

Murmurs, the shuffle of chairs, and beeps from equipment did little to combat the deafening, anticipatory silence that now filled the room. It was the calm before the storm, crawling up their spines and striking fear into their hearts. Most of them – Anderas included – had never experienced such an event; they were sheltered, having only heard tales and reports of the horrors of the war against the Gra Valkans. They were supposed to handle logistics far from the front lines. Now, the front lines were here.

 

The first impact hit like a shockwave, the bunker shuddering slightly as distant explosions rolled over them. Dust sprinkled from the ceiling and the lights flickered – grim reminders of the destruction being wrought above.

 

Lieutenant Bramwell’s cracked slightly as he relayed the harrowing reports coming in over the radio. “Direct hits in the residential districts, sir. Evacuations weren’t complete. Casualties are mounting.”

 

Anderas felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “Which districts, Bramwell? Be specific.”

 

Bramwell shuffled through his papers, his voice tense. “Primarily in the Eastgate and Marrowfield areas, sir. The shelters there were bombed. According to reports, there were still some civilians at the entrance trying to get in…”

 

Captain Renard, usually composed, slammed his fist against the table. “Damn those fucking brutes!” he spat, face contorted and reddened in anger. “Eastgate… my sister’s family…”

 

Anderas placed a firm hand on his soldier. “They probably made it through, Captain. They lived right next to the shelter, so they may have already taken refuge, no?”

 

Renard calmed down. “Right, right. Sorry, sir.”

 

Bramwell continued listening to his radio, jotting down as much as he could. 

 

“And our airfields?” Anderas asked the Air Corps officer, gritting his teeth. 

 

“Partially hit, Colonel. We’ve lost a few of our Marin fighters – the ones left on the main airfields. They haven’t found the hidden ones yet.”

 

The bunker vibrated again, this time with enough force to unbalance Anderas and shake items off tables. A bomb must’ve hit the command center right above them. He could take heart in knowing that there was no loss of life directly above, but the damage to their infrastructure would be a significant disadvantage in the coming battle. 

 

More reports came in, ranging from expected losses to completely disheartening decimation of unprepared sectors. Radar across Durnsbury was now down, aside from a handful of units that were preemptively deactivated in anticipation of Gra Valkan SEAD/DEAD efforts.

 

An officer spoke up, “Communications with the northern sectors are down, Colonel. We’re switching to backup manacomm relays.”

 

More bad news continued to roll in, each report painting a grimmer picture of the situation above.

 

Lieutenant Bramwell’s hand stopped writing, eyes becoming distant. Anderas felt his heart sink at the sight, steeling himself for whatever the young lieutenant just heard. “What is it?”

 

Bramwell looked up, relaying the recent report, “We’ve lost contact with the 3rd Infantry Battalion stationed near the central plaza. Most were able to evacuate, but one of the barracks took a direct hit. Estimated casualties… we lost an entire platoon, probably two.”

 

Before Anderas could even think of a response, a new report came in from Captain Renard. “Reports from Marrowfield are catastrophic. Residential buildings have collapsed, and emergency services are overwhelmed. We’re estimating several hundred civilians injured, many still trapped.”

 

Anderas paced the length of the bunker. Everything was falling apart.  This was nothing compared to the war games against Leifor, Magikareich, or the Holy Mirishial Empire. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do against a monster like this. He glanced around at his men. If he crumbled, so too would they. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself. The vibrations were becoming less frequent. That was a good sign. “Update on the Gra Valkan bombers?” he asked, trying to maintain a focus on the broader picture.

 

One of the mages waved a hand over a scrying screen, channeling mana into it. “Their last wave is retreating. But the damage is extensive. Multiple fires across the city, with reports still coming in.”

Anderas absorbed the news, sighing. “Send out the medical and emergency teams,” he ordered. “We need to get those fires and assist any civilians in need immediately.”

 

As the mage nodded and relayed the orders, Anderas turned to face the rest of his staff in the bunker. He could tell by the tired expressions and dreary eyes – their morale was already on a steep decline, and the assault hadn’t even begun yet.

 

Captain Howell, in charge of the medical units, approached Anderas. “Colonel, we’re stretched thin. The number of casualties and the extent of the damage… We don’t have enough personnel to handle all of this.”

 

Anderas paused, the conflict evident in his eyes. The choice was excruciating – aid the city and its people, or ensure his forces were in fighting condition for the inevitable ground assault. This was his first hard decision – triage – and it wouldn’t get any easier from here. “Prioritize our troops first,” he finally said in a low voice, reluctant determination imbued into his words. “We need our forces operational if we’re to have any chance of buying more evacuation time.”

 

Howell acknowledged the order, though his expression mirrored the internal conflict they all felt. “Understood, sir. I’ll dispatch the teams to the barracks and key defensive positions first.”

 

Anderas turned back to the scrying screen, watching the flickering images of chaos and destruction. His heart ached for the people of Durnsbury, for the lives lost and the suffering endured. But as a military leader, his decisions had to be guided by strategy and the greater good of the city’s defense.

 

As soon as the first hard decision left his lips, another took its place. The mage from before approached again, this time bearing a complete report on the damage to their units. “The fortifications along the main roads have been ruined. If we focus on rapid refortification, it’ll put half of our mages at the brank of mana exhaustion and out of commission for a day.”

 

Anderas’ eyes narrowed as he considered the dilemma. The Gra Valkans could attack any moment now; rebuilding was essential, but exhausting their magical resources could leave them dangerously exposed to Gra Valkan assaults. He needed every option on the table. “Prioritize the key strategic points. If there’s any place we can use the rubble to our advantage, then skip those. I don’t know as much as you and your colleagues about the efficacy of magic, so I’ll leave it at your discretion.”

 

He then addressed the rest of his staff. “Prepare for a ground assault. I want our backup radar systems reactivated and all units on high alert. Defenses around the railway need to be bolstered as much as possible.”

 

Captain Renard stepped forward. “Sir, some of our troops are still recovering from the bombing. Pushing them now could –”

 

“We have no choice,” Anderas cut in. “Every soldier, every mage must stand ready. We’ll do what we can to support them, but the Gra Valkans won’t wait for us to be at our best. If need be, we’ll show them just how much of a fight we can put up at our worst.”