Author Notes:
Aiya~! It's the start of December, ahhhh~!!!
Honestly, it's been one heck of a year, with all of its ups and downs for us all, huh. I know that it's not yet the end of 2025, but still, with the holidays fast approaching, I can't help but feel emotional, and even melancholy.
Whatever comes next for me, knows that it's all because of you guys and girls that push me forward to pen down two heck of a fic. It's also because of you all that my Mom is here with me still. That's two lives you all help save and motivate, so do pat yourselves on the backs, everyone.
As for this RM chapter and why it's a bit late (or early depending on how you look at it?), it's because I am helping my Mom cleaning up the house for the holidays to come. I know, I know, it's a shabby rental house, but it's our home, and home is to be cared for. That's Mama's lesson, right there.
Without further ado, enjoy the story and the picture. Links to support us are below, if anyone's willing and able. Peace!
https://www.patre-on.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
https://photos.app.goo.gl/waZgkRa3UQhqKQBi9
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/1375924/in-the-grimdark-sector-with-a-system/
Bryn: https://postimg.cc/QFT6N5HY
-------------------------------------------------------------
The booming of a .50 caliber Vickers machine gun terrorizes an entire neighborhood in London. In a bid to eliminate the militia troops ahead of it, a Matilda I infantry tank fires indiscriminately on anything that moves. The 12.7x81 mm cartridges, the type used by the tank's sole and primary weapon, prove themselves to be extremely deadly against soft-skinned combatants... Perhaps too deadly, even, as the .50 caliber bullets pack enough force to overpenetrate the wooden barricades and thin walling of the houses in this particular neighborhood. And since the gunner in the Matilda I doesn't seem to care to identify his target and holds down the trigger, a lot of those 4000 .50 caliber rounds wind up missing the targets and hitting something they shouldn't, the bystander civilians hiding inside their homes.
Before, the Grim Reaper had the courtesy to knock on the door, going from street to street, house to house. Now, Death comes to all. Young or old, militias or civilians, bullets don't care. The enroaching shadow, cast by the setting sun and the worsening Fog of War, creates an illusion of blood seeping through barricaded doorways and the very ground itself. It is a hellish, hopeless landscape for the citizens of London who have never felt such atrocity. It's even worse than the Cataclysm period, where they could at least find hope in running away. But now? Those who move in the line of fire will be the first to be cut down by the slaughtering tank crew, regardless of whether or not they're combatants.
Yet, would the militia force, formed out of the will of the people of Erusea, stomach such senseless punishment without resisting? Of course not, but will alone doesn't necessitate firepower. Still, they keep throwing their lives at the heavy firepower anyway. If they do not do that, then who will protect the civilians behind and around them? So, under such a valiant, yet ultimately suicidal stand, the people's militia serves as living roadblocks to slow down the approaching tank, having no other choice as they lack heavy weapons themselves.
Nevertheless, the time, paid with lives and blood, is running out for the militia. While the Royal Guards around Buckingham Palace have access to anti-tank weapons and thus can weather the bullet storm named Matilda, the militia of London is at the breaking point. Their desperate rise in the name of future risks being defeated, if not destroyed, in the very first conflict.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inside one of London's clinics that has been hastily converted into a field hospital, the wife of a certain Admiral John Tovey of the unfortunate Home Fleet can be seen acting as a nurse. Being a part of the peaceful civilian protesters, Aida Tovey found herself caught in the thick of it when bullets started flying. In the ensuing chaos, as casualties mount among the like-minded compatriots, Aida rounds up the injured into this very clinic. Using her limited medical knowledge, Aida spearheads the effort in stabilizing the patients first before the more capable doctors and nurses in the clinic can treat them. Being that this clinic-turned-field-hospital is a small establishment with limited staffing, Aida's and other volunteers' efforts aid in making sure the wounded survive long enough to receive proper care.
As Aida, with her once sleek dress marred in dried blood, is finishing up on bandaging an elder with a fragmentation wound, a militia comes barging in from outside the clinic. The man is bleeding from his shoulder, and the Webley revolver in his bloodied hand is a conspicuous sight. Aida recognizes the man as a patient who was discharged from the field hospital earlier.
"The bandaging has loosened..." Aida steps forward to greet the man as the battlescape grows more intense outside.
"It came off when I had to sucker punch a guy..." The old militia quips with a fearless smile. "Bastard came at me while I was reloading."
"Here, let me hel-" Aida is cut off when the militia shouts.
"Everybody out! The frontline is collapsing, and we can't hold those sons of bitches off! So, unless you all are ready to meet your maker, run!" The militia then puts his intact hand on Aida's shoulder before roughly guiding her away from the door.
"Wait!" Aida says loudly, shocked by the suddenness of everything. "We can't run with all of these wounded!"
"Then leave them!" The militia barks. "That tank is just around the corner! We don't have time to fuck around!"
Despite Aida's struggle, the bleeding militia still manages to overpower her, pushing her to the secondary exit of the field hospital. While the militia's warning is a cause for the now restless atmosphere, only a few actually follow the warning and make a hasty exit. With the great many injured still inside the field hospital, many of whom are immobilized or too weak to move, the staff and volunteers are incapable of abandoning them. Clearly, these medical practitioners still retain their consciences in this troubling era.
When Aida and the militia make it near a counter, however, bullets come flying through the front of the field hospital, and those sitting out in the front are maimed instantly. As the multitude of slugs and fragmentations turn the field hospital into a mess of screams and blood, the militia is swift to tackle Aida behind the thick medical counter; his hand quite forcefully keeps the woman's head low to the ground. With people letting out their cries of fear and demise all around them among the hail of lead, Aida finds herself unable to distinguish her own scream among all the chaos. One of the nurses, a lively girl that Aida partnered up with for a couple of patients, is flung across the countertop and falls right on top of the hiding pair. The nurse, now made a still warm corpse, bleeds onto Aida and the experienced militia man through the gaping hole in the center of her body. Instead of actually pushing the corpse away, much to the absolute horror of Aida, who is still lying beneath it on her stomach, the militia pulls it down to the side of them, using it as an additional meat shield in case some bullets overpenetrate the counter.
The lifeless, horrified yet blank gaze of the dead nurse chills Aida to the bone. Aida has seen the eyes of the wounded and the dead, yet none shaken her to the core like this unfortunate acquaintance's.
The Matilada I only cease hosing down the field hospital when a group of militias attack it from a different angle. As the infantry tank turns its machine gun turret over to engage those brave souls, the militia uses this chance to urge Aida to slowly crawl her way to the back door of the field hospital. That crawl, though, soon turns into a full, low-posture sprint to safety.
"Go! Go!" Under the urging of the injured militia, Aida rushes to a network of alleyways.
The last image Aida sees in the direction of the shot-up hospital is someone jumping onto the Matilda I to toss a grenade into it before using his own, profusely bleeding body to block the escape hatch. The ensuing, muffled bang is the last nail that truly drives a certain point home.
London is mad.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
4th Expeditionary Strike Group, KMS Elbe.
The flagship of the 4th ESG, a Bayern-class battlecarrier, is embroiled in a sea of activity as it makes ready to fulfill the Marshal's directive. From a standard naval support operation, 4th ESG will now participate in a direct invasion of the heart of the Kingdom of Erusea. While their placement on the maritime map had influenced the Marshal's decision in deploying them, no doubt about it, this is still an honor beyond measure for the group of eager sailors and Marines. 4th ESG as a whole is largely a new Strike Group, with the KMS Elbe being one year into her service. Should this upcoming campaign prove successful, then it will be a pivotal leap to bring the entire 4th ESG up to the same level of wartime fame as those of the 1st and 2nd ESGs, which have been on a long streak of operational success from Taranto to Dunkirk and now Gdańsk. So yes, morale is high all across the board, buffed by the sheer technological and doctrinal supremacy that is now common to the Belkan Reich.
Yet, when that very invasion campaign highlights the critical intelligence of a messy free-for-all in London, and that it won't be much of an invasion but rather a lethal riot control and subjugation. The reactions of the Belkan Marines can't be any more confused. Confused, because why would the Eruseans conduct a civil war right now of all time, when the Reich is but a mere swim away from them? And more importantly, why so devastating, so uncaringly cruel to their own people? A combination of drone footage and ONI agents' reports painted a grim picture of the true scale of this civil war.
By now, at least thousands inside the city of London lay dead and critically injured with no hope of getting aid. Critical citywide infrastructure is now ruined, dormant, or overwhelmed by the sheer number of casualties from all sides. Hospital shootouts or shoot-ups are made common when different factions come across each other while having their wounded treated. Utilizing the chaos, robbers, arsonists, and opportunists set out to do their worst, with the police force being torn apart in a brutal power struggle of their own. Worst, local Erusean Army and Territorial garrisons from outside London are inbound to bring peace to the city. Yet, it's unknown who they ultimately answer to; already, undercover agents have uncovered at least ten conflicting orders across the chain of command. ONI suspects that this, all of this mess, is the work of an underground faction they have been pursuing for a long time. So, on top of pacifying the city of London and putting an end to the Erusean regime for good, the Marines will also be tasked with raiding specific locations for intelligence about this unseen hand. While Section Zero is perfectly capable of figuring out the snake's tail eventually, other things require their expertise as well.
Some may say that this is a redundant thing to do, considering that all this underground faction has ever done is unironically aid the Reich in ensuring Erusea's downfall. Yet, given that ONI has been in the dark about them for most of this war, the Reich's state intelligence agency considers this a direct insult and a challenge. Because if they can escape the net once, then others can follow suit. Rogue elements like them must be eliminated or controlled for the Marshal's grand plan. To aid the Belkan Marine Corps in this endeavor, other than its elite Marine Force Recons, elements from ONI's 141st Rapid Forces Division and RAVEN Program will reinforce the initial landing and subsequent ones. In fact, the first reinforcements have just arrived.
Landing on the flight deck of the Elbe, the three V-22 Ospreys open up their rear ramps. Stepping down from them are soldiers clad in power armor that tower over a normal human being. Some of these soldiers are even taller and bulkier than the beastkin and Onis in the Marine Corps. As their armored footsteps resound over the flight deck of the Elbe, both the sailors and the Marines view these newcomers with not a small degree of awe. Up close, these soldiers in power armor exude gravitational pressure that screams hyper-lethal. Given that they're also the special operation units under ONI's and the Reich Marshal's direct command, and that they're credited with a long list of accolades covered under black ink, even the most hot-blooded Marines have to show them respect first before anything else.
As the armored soldiers line up in an orderly formation, they snap a cohesive salute that drowns out the beating propellers of the Osprey behind them. Their representative is a female soldier who, while not being the tallest among them, certainly carries herself with an almost mechanical manner, with no movement wasted before she greets.
"Colonel Hopson, Sir!" The Raven says calmly with little change in her tone. "Captain Violet Schnee reporting for duty."
"At ease, lass. Gotta say, you all are making me feel like an old man with how tall you are." The Marine Colonel chuckles before introducing the person next to him. "This is Major Maple. She is my adjutant, and the liaison you should go to if you somehow can't reach me."
"Understood, Sir." Captain Schnee says before turning her helmet head to give the Major a nod. "Major."
"Captain, I hope we will have a very fruitful joint operation." The Major smiles politely.
"As do I, Major Maple."
Feeling already that Captain Schnee ain't one for pleasantry, the Colonel interjects. "Alright, let's get off this chilly deck and get your quarters sorted out. There will be a meeting between us officers later, so make sure you pay attention to the PA. We cool, Captain?"
To this, the supersoldier returns a concise nod.
"Great, I hope you all would like some Empanadas." The Colonel turns around, gesturing with his hand for the special operation troops to follow him. "The cooks here make some damn fine of that stuff with either meat or sweet fillings. Just don't overeat and get all volcanic tummy while on transit to shore."
Much unlike Erusea, it can be said that, even till the last minute, the Belkan expeditionary force remains in high spirits.