VR WARS Volume II - Coalition Army

GRAND BATTERY

From the top of the hill that had cost the Portuguese so dearly, Captain Simão of the Mirabilis Unit overviewed the surrounding countryside as well as the hellish path leading to its peak. Flanked by the surviving students in the first wave of the attack that had found refuge from the murderous fire, each one of the survivors found no strength left on which to stand. Battle fatigue had worn them down to the bones; some even displayed the familiar look famously popularized during World War II: a thousand-yard stare. Most generally used to describe disassociation among victims from traumas, the blank, unfocused gaze into the nothingness of the many combatants who, by this point, after hours of fighting, had become emotionally detached from the horrors around them.

Burning wrecks as far as the eye could see, bodies rotting everywhere in the sun, more spent shell casings than rocks and fire. Flames consuming the grass, some aiming to reach high and touch the sun, others barely scraping the earth, was the view drowning the Portuguese's combined units on the left flank of the battlefield.

Depending on the point of view of the millions of viewers watching the live broadcast, nothing that had happened or was happening in that fake world could be deemed ‘real.’ In a way, the same could be said for the youngster partaking in the virtual competition. But it was then that another perspective came into play, one that belonged to those same youngsters and them alone.

The facts remained absolute.

None of what happened or was happening to the Portuguese and Iberian students could be considered unreal.

They were killing each other, ripping apart their souls with each killing blow to ensure they thrived in the near future.

“Captain of the Mirabilis, transmitting from the left flank,” Simão forced his voice to come clean through the large radio that served as a backpack for one of his students close by. “Status on the primary objective—”

His voice gave away before he could finish as small droplets accumulated in his eyes finally broke free from their imprisonment and ran down his cheeks, washing away the dirt that smeared his face, bleeding the salt from his soul as it poured from his eyes.

Out of all the challenges they had faced and battles fought, none had taken a heavier toll than the taking of that sole objective.

And so, with a heavy heart for all those who had perished in that terrible climb, Simão, the acting captain of the Mirabilis and Terras Unit, seeing that José had unwittingly passed the torch onto him, raised his head and looked one last time at the c*****e. Then, upholding his standing as the man in charge, he lifted his head and communicated the message everyone wanted to hear.

“…Hill 253.5 secured.”

While some sighed with relief, others began descending the hill to search for their missing comrades, but all movement soon came to a stop when somebody howled and pointed to the distance. It was then that everyone began to speak their mind without care.

“Some shitty luck we have….”

“For goodness sake, can't we get a moment to breathe?!”

“Ha-ha…Secured—Ah, yeah, we got that part, didn’t we people?”

“Oh, it’s secured, alright …but for how long?”

“Wha-what do you mean? We…we just got here.”

“Man, does it look like they care?”

Stretching over the yellow steppes below, menacing clouds of dust like the ones spotted by Rui on the right flank formed in the distance. The IF counter-attack, the same one the IF students situated on the hill hoped would reach them on time to turn the tide, was imminent.

The battle on the left flank stretches on.

HQ and Artillery Battery emplacements

UL sector of operations

55km to Kursk

Throughout the empty plains, echoing almost in a continuous pattern, sending salvo after salvo over friendly lines, and into enemy territory stood the Portuguese Coalition's heavy weaponry. Under the mechanical guidance of their Supreme Commander Pedro, each weapon fired precisely on time and landed exactly on target; all the rigid training where they had spent countless sleepless nights was all for this moment.

The fruits of their labor were ripe for the taking.

Each transmission coming through the radio confirming direct hits on the targets presented to them brought a sense of pride to the artillery crews. Much like a real meteor shower, wreaking havoc all along the IF lines, the barrages provided by the UL so far were a key instrument for the smooth advance for not only the UAT but every other unit on either flank. Staying true to his character, the unpredictable Deputy-Commander Angelo had strayed from the plan and set in motion his own cataclysmic chain of events that nearly paralyzed Pedro’s central command.

Contrary to Angelo and Rui, who could make decisions depending on the situations at hand, the artistic strategist, Pedro’s unique flaw, made him vulnerable to a sudden turn of events outside his forecast ability. Whether those events came from his enemies or allies made little difference. If even one small piece of his carefully layered plan went astray, the Supreme Commander often found himself struggling in dealing with the new challenge.

His condition only worsened when considering Angelo, the one man who kept him up every night, biting his lips in anger, had a knack for doing the unforeseeable. The awareness of Pedro’s inflexibility had already raised multiple inquiries about his position and whether he should be the coalition's overall leader, asked and answered numerous times. Despite his proactivity to acclimate to warfare's constant flow being little to none, the Supreme Commander was a man that did his homework flawlessly, and his record spoke for itself.

None of the universities enlisted in the coalition had a perfect score of victories, like the UL under Pedro. He was the only Commander who could be regarded as undefeated in battle. And that was a talent shared by none.

Fully aware that such a thing from Angelo was very likely to happen, Pedro had formulated his plan, disregarding the small-sized UAT from the scope of things entirely. After the initial barrage supporting Angelo’s advance, which had to be called off forty minutes ahead of schedule due to his sudden attack, the artillery focus shifted towards either flanking unit. Yet, the center force's continuous advance without his assistance couldn’t help but infuriate Pedro when, finally, fire discipline transmissions came through the radio requesting artillery support from the people he had neglected to help out anymore.

“Strong enemy anti-tank emplacements, enemies in the open. High explosive. Adjust fire, grid ES923924, over.”

“This has to be some kind of a joke,” he shouted in frustration as his fist slammed the nearby table, shaking the canteen and almost spilling all the water inside of it. “Hypocrite bastard! My artillery is not just to suit his needs!”

His closest attendants were perplexed, not sure what to say if they even needed to say anything. Having had to limber up every piece of gear they had and moved up closer to the frontline multiple times to keep up with Angelo, most of the UL had about enough of the UAT's callous behavior.

But at the same time, despite having to deal with Angelo and the Azorean mongrels, deep in his mind, Pedro knew that the sooner he cleared Angelo’s path, the sooner he could shift his focus towards his trusted right-hand man, Rui, on the right or his elite units on the left. So, for the moment, he took a deep breath to regain his composure and obliged the UAT’s request with a solemn tone.

“Do it.”

Instantly, his officers rushed to their crews and began adjusting their weapons according to the UAT’s request. A massive battery of a hundred guns of different calibers soon had their sights set high, ready to unleash hell.

“Let’s go, people; we’ve got a fire mission! Grid ES92394, distance 11500 meters, fire for effect!”

Booomboomboom.

At first, only five guns fired one shell each to get the distance right and get viable coordinates from the observers to where the shots should be landing.

“Add 150 meters, left 200 meters, over.”

“You heard him; all guns, commence firing!”

The thunderstorm erupted at last, with each weapon discharging its massive and deadly cargo that made the earth tremble and showered the heavens in weeping rain. Usually, the enemy would respond with a counter-artillery barrage of their own, but after hours of launching projectile after projectile, no enemy shells came crashing down on Pedro’s unit, much to his surprise. His initial calculations were to have half his guns knocked out at this point in the battle but to come out of it without a single loss, both in human resources and equipment, made him suspicious of the IF’s Supreme Commander's true intentions.

“Splash! Good hits! AT weapons destroyed, estimated 25 enemy casualties. Thank you,” the UAT observer’s voice soon brimmed over the radio.

“Let me go unchallenged long enough, and these guns will bring my wrath down onto your city,” he couldn’t help but give imagination to the thought. The IF's inactivity meant that they had either spread their people into the frontline roles like the infantry or armored corps or spared their artillery for the decisive match. But the latter seemed a foolhardy decision and likely improbable at this point. Just then, his grim grew cold as his train of thought derailed at an expected turn.

…If they don’t have any heavy weapons…then that means they must have double the infantry and tanks we do…considering we haven’t encountered any particular heavy resistance so far, it could also mean…“s**t!”

“Sir?”

“…Their reserves are untouched; we could be seeing a massive counter-attack all across the map at any moment now…” he slammed his fist at the table once more, this time making the canteen flip and spill water all over. He had realized the IF’s real battle strategy too late.

Th-they…got me…