Calidrian-Argenist Front Lines (Calidrian Side)

Hell, that was a close one. A single direct shot from one of these tanks would be more than enough to puncture through his armor. And there's three of these damnable vehicles lying about.

He thought about providing a smokescreen cover, before realizing the shells could just blow them over. Grunting, he moved towards any cover he could find, preferably before the tanks decided to take another round at them.

As Varg dashes for cover, something heavy and large ricochets off his pauldrons; judging by the strength and shriek it made, the round must've been an AT round. Immediately as Varg made that realization more ant-tank rounds smash into the plates of his fellow comrades, piercing their thick armor and striking the soft flesh behind.

The flame trooper finds himself next to Alekzander, who quickly glances over his shoulder. "Well this is kind of a shitty situation, ain't it brother?"

No sooner had Varg thought of how close one of the tanks' rounds almost hit him that another one ricochets off his shoulder. And he was one of the lucky ones, with the others stricken down by the shells.

It was also then that one of his comrades decides to humor him despite(or rather, because) their current situation. Namely, Alekzander.

"You don't say," was all the sergeant replied, completely deadpan.

Alekzander pokes out to fire off a shell but an anti-tank round glances off his pauldron, throwing him back into cover. "Shit! Too close!"

As his comrade inspects the damage, Varg notices movement on the ridge behind them. Infantry moving in, flanking them. They're easily outnumbered five to one currently.

"HQ, this is the 7th Mechanized, 12th Division," Czeklessa calls out on the radio, "We need immediate backup! HQ, do you copy?"

"HQ copies all, Captain, the nearest unit that can relieve you is thirty minutes out, it's on its way, HQ out."

"Varg, clear a path, we need to break out of this encirclement!" the Captain yells.

"Affirmative! Finally..." Seeing the enemies troops moving in trying to get to their position, he brought his gun to bear upon them; trusting his comrades to stick out of the way of the ensuing flames.

And flames did erupt, from the sergeant's newest weapon. The troops who managed to get too close to their position will perish almost instantaneously; the fire covering their whole bodies until what's left is only a charred, roasted corpses. The rest who are a bit further will face worse, for they will bear the sensation of their skin being boiled alive by the heat as they scream in agony and die a horrible painful death, which will no doubt terrify and do wonders to nearby enemy morale no matter their odds; hopefully just enough to allow the squad to break through their formation.

The Captain wanted him to clear a path and, if nothing happens to stop his endless carnage, he'll do so with resounding success, all the while taking out a large number of Argenist infantry along the way.

The first bursts of his flamer torches the hapless soldiers, sending the rest fleeing for their lives. But another sight greets Varg when he reaches the top of the ridge.

Enemy troops. Hundreds of them. All supported by a massive array of tanks, IFVs, and SPAAGs.

A near-hit from an anti-tank rifle reminds Varg to keep his head down. But these troops look like a reserve unit...and it's blocking their way back to their lines.

Unfortunately, there's no way to fight their way out of these fresh reinforcements with their meager and dwindling numbers.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, would be an adequate summary for this. Just when he thought this was all that was left of the enemy troops, countless of them appeared on his visor, along with MASSIVE support backing them up an- Was that a sniper round? As much as he was looking forward to burn down his enemies, he instinctively knew that this was just one fight they simply can't win.

Unwinnable odds, unfavorable terrain and their reinforcements are still several minutes away. What would the sergeant do in this case?

"... To hell with this, we can't fight past too many of them! Fall back and find cover!!" The sergeant yelled out in his comms. He normally doesn't give orders as all he sees in himself is a soldier bred to fight and follow orders, not to lead. But when he does that, it's only done so in truly dire situation such as now. Hence when the normally stoic sergeant begins shouting, the troopers behind him would immediately sense the urgency in his tone.

As for Varg, there's only one thing left that he knew could prolong this fight, or at least provide a distraction of sorts, however brief. Even then, it's not reliable and can be a total waste with the enemy vehicles nearby that can sweep it away, but it was worth a shot. Barring his gun at the sky, he fired and dense fume of smoke emerged from it instead of flames, before immediately covering the area with an impromptu smokescreen.

If Varg had time to think about it after this conflict, he'll reflect on how foolish it was to waste fuel on a completely useless maneuver that could no doubt be swept away easily. Nor will he not forget that he has the audacity to assume command while the captain, the one with superior combat experience and leadership, is still present, in which he will persistently ask said captain to reprimand for it once they got out of this.

But for now, those thoughts were placed at the backburner, for he neither had the time nor luxury to think about that. All he focuses on as of now is the squad's survival...

"There's only one way out!" Alekzander calls out into the comms.

Czeklessa speaks up. "You mean the Old District?!"

"We all know what the fucking Loyalists do to us Reds, captain, your orders!" Alekzander barks out.

A brief moment passes. "All units, retreat and regroup in the Old District. Hopefully the enemy is sane enough to stay out of it."

Sane or not, it's painfully obvious that the squad is left with no other option if they wish to make it out alive. And so following captain's order, the sergeant too retreated after them, towards the Old District.

He'll take his chance against the 'horrors' there, if it meant living another day.

The Old District seems to be more mundane than it first appears. The ruins of a massive factory district, the hundred-year-old remains of dozens of factory buildings stand yet, frozen seemingly in time. Snow covers the landscape, icicles hanging precariously over the doorway.

And yet, Varg's instincts yell at him to run. To flee. To escape. It's as if he was a mere mouse in a grander game of cat and mouse, a feeling of constant dread and paranoia that he cannot shake.

From the looks of it, Alekzander isn't much better when the man remarks, "Something about this damn place just seems wrong."

The Captain remains quiet, leading their group through the old ruins.

Varg grunted at Alekzander's comment. So he wasn't alone in feeling that coming here seems to be a bad idea. This just seemed like any other abandoned district with no visible threats, the Jirmushi doesn't seem to be following them and they are, for all intent and purpose, completely safe from harm.

... Yet, why can't he shake off and ignore this sinking feeling, like something is about to happen?

They can't be bothered to re-think this decision, though. It's either this or utter annihilation by the enemy side. And so, the sergeant moved, keeping his eye out for any threats, both the Jirmunishi dogs and the unknown creatures that may dwell within; suddenly remembering her Captain's words.

Alekzander looks around, before to the Captain. "Ma'am, your orders?"

Czeklessa nods idly, looking about, before pointing to one of the industrial factories. "Let's regroup in there. We need to plan... we need to think of a way to get out of here."

-----

The factory is an interesting sight. Despite being in an obvious state of decay and disrepair, there is still a half-complete steam tank laying on the factory grounds. It seems the whole facility was abandoned in a hurry, as the tank was nearing completion. It seems, with some touches to the engine, and finishing its tracks, the steam tank is at least able to move on its own power.

"...And there has to be at least a full division's worth of enemies outside this area. Even if they moved on, and we attacked their lines from the rear, all they would need to do is to turn their guns on us and we're done for," Alekzander concludes.

"The alternative is waiting for help to arrive," one of their squadmates point out. "We don't know how long that could take. We have no supplies as it is."

Varg notices, though, that the Captain is unusually silent. She stares off, deeper into the Old District, silent as death, almost as if waiting for someone or something.

"No further contact from HQ? Status of latest unit's ETA to our position? Or is it all just static?" Varg inquired to the squad about their communication line. There must be a signal of sorts within this god-forsaken district. There's some hope to cling onto with just simple contact from command. If not, they're truly stranded here, with no way of knowing the situation outside.

He also didn't fail to notice the Captain's unsettled demeanor, staring off into deep space. "Captain," he called out to her, trying to get her out of her trance and showing... slight concern? "Something wrong?" He audibly gripped his weapon close to him.

It could be that she's re-living her trauma(unfitting, so he hoped not) and thus, may lead to poor judgement and decision-making, so he felt the need to snap her out of it. But it could also be that she notices something wrong. And if the captain truly does suspect anything amiss, then who was he to judge?

Alekzander shakes his head. "Static. Something's jamming us, but I don't know what."

The Captain nods to Varg. She seems lucid enough. "I don't think this is right. The flux creatures should've noticed us by now."

Varg grunts disappointingly when they reply that there's simply static in their comm line but leave it at that. There's not much they can do about it for the moment. Then, his Captain said that the creatures plaguing this should've been here by now.

Isn't that good news for them? Still, she was naturally suspicious. If what she said is true, then that can't be a good sign. It was then the sergeant began to take notice of the almost-completed tank at the corner of his visor, taking it into account of this current mess. Maybe, just maybe...

"Someone should fix up that big bucket of bolt," He addressed to the rest of the squad, clearly indicating at said tank. It wouldn't take long for them to notice where I was going with this: Having an operational tank on our side could significantly improve our chance at survival, no matter how minimal. "Anyone good with tools and machines?"

Alekzander raises his hands. "Hey, why didn't I think of that sooner? I'll fix up the main gun, someone check the engine and strap on some tracks."

"I'll see if there's any fuel," Czeklessa answers, finally broken from her trance. "Varg, keep watch out for anything suspicious."

"Affirmative," Varg voices out, keeping his guard up and his gun at the ready. Now that they have a clear course of action planned ahead, things are starting to look up, for once.

As seconds pass to minutes, and minutes to hours, something does seem to tug on the edge of Varg's nerves. It grows worse as he spots movement up ahead, what appears to be a single shambling blob of a slime, colored a sickly, disturbing purple, with enough mass to easily engulf one of the squad members and his power armor whole. It shambles towards them, the mindless monster surging forward as it detects activity in the factory.

"Looks like we got company," Alekzander calls out, having spied the gelatinous blob.

"Fluxslime," Czeklessa nods. "Varg, light it up with the flamer. It should be enough to destroy it."

Varg didn't waste a single moment upon given the order to exterminate his threat, the flame suddenly bursting into life from his flamer as it seeks to engulf the slime monstrosity in its entirety.

The amount of effort he pours into this may have been overkill, but between the Captain's tales of the flux creatures and facing against a completely unknown foe, the Sergeant is not one willing to take any chance.