"The knight squad was annihilated?" Alfred slumped into a chair, his spirit shattered, "Those men aren't dead?"
"Not only that, but just a few minutes ago we received word that the mortar units in the northern central defense zone have gone silent," the aide-de-camp Langfeilo said expressionlessly, "It seems this team has breached the northern defensive line, infiltrating the mortar crew's quarters."
"What about Erich?" Alfred hurriedly asked, "Has Lord Erich made contact?"
Langfeilo fell silent.
Of course, there had been communication; mortar commander Erich had cursed Alfred out in the messages, demanding to know why, despite having given fire support, he had allowed the enemy to breach the front lines and infiltrate, causing his precious artillery boys to suffer casualties.
If tomorrow's battle saw mortar rounds captured from above Olin City raining down, Erich swore he would curse Alfred in front of Bernifax, denouncing his ancestors for eighteen generations.
