The Grand Archstrategos

You looked out the window and, not for the first time, thought about how wrong the weather forecast had been. No fog, no clouds, calm seas and not a hint of wind. You swore under your breath. You had personally met with Grand Lieutenant Cetmir of the Planning Corps, who had assured you that his men had predicted a fierce storm that day. You felt a wave of anger course through your body – that bastard Cetmir might well have ruined the greatest opportunity you were ever going to get in your life. You clenched your fist. “We’ll have to call off the invasion”, you muttered. There were half a dozen men in striking uniforms coloured gold and white, with blue stripes running up their left arms, and symbols embroidered on their belts. They were gathered around a mahogany table. A beautiful carpet adorned the floor, and there were dazzling candles attached to the roof, but the walls were an uninspiring grey, a harsh reminder that you were all still on a vessel of war. The men stopped their discussions and looked at you. “You can’t call off the invasion”, Grand Strategos Melite cried. “We’ve been planning this for months! The Grand Chancellor has provided every resource to us! He even placed the Sergeant of the Guard under your command! We have to push on.”. “We can’t invade in these conditions”, you countered. “Our plan requires extremely low visibility. The first wave will be utterly destroyed.”. Melite smirked. “So that’s your reason? With all due respect, Grand Archstrategos, the first wave always gets destroyed. You can’t be considering calling off the invasion because you feel sympathy for the clones? So much so that you would compromise our great nation?”. Your eyes widen. ”N-no. I would never”, you stutter. “Maybe it would be best that I report this to the archduke”, Melite continued. “Enough!”, you roared. “The invasion will continue as planned”. You clench your teeth and look back out the window. You’ve been played by him, played like a fiddle, but there’s no time to dwell on that now. You can hear the whistles of the enemy’s long range coastal gun’s shells as they roar through the air and land among the formation of empty landing ships you sent further towards the coast as a decoy. “The time has come. Drop the ships!”

***

Inside the capsule everything was eerie green. You hear the hiss of static from the speaker to your left. A communications wire connected your capsule to another one to your left – there’s no other way to communicate at the bottom of the ocean. “First wave has arrived on the coast Archstrategos”, says a distorted voice from the speaker. You flick a switch and pull an instrument towards your mouth. “Thank you, keep me updated”. The front and sides of the capsule were made up of mostly thick glass; with an instrument panel in the centre. You could feel the rhythmic thuds shake the capsule as two leg like appendages ‘walked’ on the sea floor. To your left, you could see a structure similar to your own, a capsule with two large mechanical legs, slowly advancing. Further than that, you could just make out the outline of one of the landing craft. It wasn’t making contact with the sea bed, and could be seen swerving up and down to avoid any obstacles. There were 4 such landing craft on your left and your right, 8 right in front of you and 6 in the first wave, which had already reached the beach and had surfaced. “Lost contact with first wave sir”, you hear. You wince, and immediately regret it. Why did you feel so bad? They were all clones, grown in mass factories, genetically engineered to have lower thinking functions. It isn’t any different from breeding animals for war, you tell yourself. Sure, a few thousand might have gotten killed in the beach under the crossfire of the extremely powerful defences that the islands of the heretic’s ocean were known for, but it was for the nation. It was for your people. You remember the face of your 12 year old son Albenst who died 4 years ago, killed by an almost incurable virus only some of the hundreds of islands of the heretic sea have the cure to. Every single person you know has lost children to the virus. Your own sisters and brothers died to it one by one until you were their sole survivor. The islanders were going to pay for all these deaths, and you don’t care how many clones have to die to get that cure. The water outside was getting less dark as the sea floor bent further upwards. “Second wave 40 meters from surfacing, we’re 60 meters”, you hear. Thud after thud you see the surface come close. “Second wave surfacing!”, you hear from the speaker. As soon as the ships surfaced, the men would storm out as fast as possible to prevent the large losses that would occur if one of the ships were hit by a coastal gun while the men were still inside. The heretic’s ocean’s islanders were known for their coastal defences. There were dozens of naval guns located all around the island, which were known to be able to hit a vessel true at the centre from kilometres away. There were walls and trenches full of men with rifles. There were even some bunkers with guns that could fire hundreds of bullets a minute. Your nation’s soldiers were not armed very well. They each had a tube into which they could place a cannister which didn’t have a lot of range, but it had a LOT of punch. If a soldier is able to get close enough to a bunker, one cannister is more than enough to completely destroy it. Since the tube is so heavy, soldiers can only carry one or two cannisters, and no other equipment. If you need another round, pick one up from a dead or dying clone. Odds are, there are at least a dozen within a few meters of you. Your thoughts are interrupted by another message. “Second wave has surfaced! They report all coastal guns destroyed!”. You smile in satisfaction. “We shall surface along with the third wave”. If there were no large guns in the area, and you kept your distance from the enemy trenches and bunkers, your heavily armoured suit would be more than enough to keep you protected. This way your soldiers can see you in the chaos and become encouraged, and you will not be in any danger. “Surfacing!”. Your capsule and the drop ships emerge onto the beach from the waters, and you can take in the hell on earth that the once presumably pristine beach had become. The entire beach was covered in smoke. There were hundreds of craters smouldering with dark black smoke. The part of the beach you emerged on was full of bodies, there were at least a few hundred corpses close to where you were. Disembodied appendages, heads, bodies ripped completely apart, bodies with their guts dripping out, imagine the torture chambers of hell, multiply it by a thousand and what you saw was worse. You could see the remnants of the second waves slowly advancing further, and the flashes of hundreds of rifles being fired upon hour men by the enemy from their trenches. From some bunkers you could see the famous body mower guns. The third wave had left the landing craft with minimal casualties, and were moving up to the sand dunes to where the second wave had reached. To your left and right, you could see smouldering remains of bunkers and coastal guns that were a part of the islands first defences. You flicked a switch and a horn blared from your capsule. “Advance!”, you yelled into the instrument, now broadcasting over speakers on the outside of your capsule. “There are no dangers here, archstrategos. We may advance 50 meters”, you hear. Your capsule and your advisors’ moved together, still connected by communications wires. “Another thing, sir. The second wave reported something strange about how there were more craters at the beach then there should have been, and noted that the first wave was destroyed faster than they should have lasted. The captain of the wave has suggested - ” You cut him off. “Enough. I care not about the demise of the first wave. They were meant to die”. Strangely, you still feel the same twinge of sadness you felt when you heard that the wave was destroyed. While you contemplate this, you hear a large explosion to your left. You look to see your advisors capsule get consumed in a giant fireball. You freeze. There was still a coast gun active, that was the only explanation. And that meant you were the next target. You tried to get your quavering hands to open the capsule. It was stuck. You swore and covered your head in your hands bracing for the shock, but it never came. You looked around your capsule. There was no coastal gun you could see in the distance. You flicked switches and turned knobs till your capsule started walking back towards the sea. You sigh. That was close. Too close. What destroyed his capsule anyway? Suddenly a jerk brings the controls to your head at a large speed, and everything goes black.

***

You wake up in the burning wreckage of your capsule. Your head hurts, and your eyes tear up from the smoke. You crawl through the broken porthole. The wind is cold and stings like a hundred tiny knives – your uniform wasn’t very good at protecting you from the elements. You crawl through burning wreckage till you get to a sand dune. There are a few clones there, taking cover from fire. You recognise a stripe on the uniform of one of them – meaning he was a strategos, a clone who was given tactical ability to command a squad in combat. “What’s happening?”, you yell. His eyes widen when he sees your uniform. “We’ve been pushed back sir”, he answers stuttering. “The first wave didn’t destroy enough of their defences, there were mines laid all over this beach”. “I need to get off this beach!” you explain. “Can you get me back to the landing ships!” The man winced. “I’ll have to move my men back to distract the enemy. Its too dangerous for them. Are you sure you want to do this?”. You’re trembling in fear. You don’t want to die, you need to get back to a landing craft “Send your men to their deaths, I don’t care! I need to get off this beach!” The clone looks at you in disgust and turns to the men to his left. “All right boys! On my whistle, advance to that crater and hold position. Ready!”. For the first time, you see the faces of your clones up close. They were shivering and trembling, and their eyes were full of fear. One of them was crying, and one was praying. These were things supposed to be genetically engineered for combat! These people didn’t look like they had lower thinking functionality! The strategos blew his whistle, and the men were away. You looked on from behind the dune as rifle rounds smash into the ground around them, killing them one by one. “GO, GO, GO NOW!” the strategos exclaims. With shaking legs you stand and start running. You feel a round glace your cheek, but you are not targeted as much as the enemy riflemen are more focussed on the sitting ducks the strategos sent as a distraction. As you run, you pass the body of one of the clones who was a part of the distraction. He is laying in a pool of his own blood, his guts dripping out of his stomach, a blank look on his face. The face looks familiar. Very familiar. A shock goes up your spine. It is the face of your 16 year old son Albenst.