Corporal Seymour ran for his life through the smoke and explosions, praying to whatever Gods were listening to keep him alive. He made a sharp turn left down a narrow alleyway, tripping and gagging over burnt corpses, until reaching an old house on the far corner. Navigating his way through the rubble, he managed to climb the staircase and quickly crawled to the room directly opposite the top, and moved slowly towards an open window to survey the area around him and catch his breath.
The landings now seemed like a distant memory. In actual fact the Royalist army had only landed on the mainland about three weeks ago, but now the sun no longer shone, instead a grey, overcast sky dominated the landscape. The conditions were not improved by the thick smoke that emanated from the many fires throughout the city. The campaign had all but been stopped in its tracks by the Union army.
Upon landing at
Nantes, the loyal forces of the King made a great effort to take the port, taking the little Union garrison by surprise and forcing them to surrender within days, suffering few casualties in the process.
After this victory, King Charles had made the army maintain a quick advance up the coast to hopefully catch at least another city port before the government could muster a proper defence. Little resistance was met during the great trek to
Angers, and many supporters for the noble cause were gathered along the way, perhaps making the Royalist forces over-confident. Indeed, a strong resistance had now been met at
Angers.
Luckily, the Union Airforce could not do too much damage without hitting their own men, as the Union and Royalist forces had no distinct lines of engagement – the city was in chaos, with units spread out all over the place. Unfortunately, the well-trained and well-equipped Union army maintained military superiority over the Royalists, who now had to rely on their stamina and faith in their cause to keep them fighting on.
Seymour clutched his
Model 35 rifle tightly as he heard the crunching of rubble under footsteps outside his window. Although ancient by modern standards, the bolt-action weapon packed a punch and he could pull off 15 rounds a minute if he concentrated. Peering over the window sill, he saw four Union soldiers warily making their way down the street – there was likely an operations post nearby. He made a quick holy gesture to the Gods before slowly easing his rifle into a firing position, taking careful aim down the sight at the one he distinguished as a Sergeant. Squeezing the trigger, he pumped off an 8mm cartridge, which thankfully flew true and ripped into the chest of the NCO, a gory spurt of blood flying out as the now limp body fell to the ground. The others expertly and swiftly dove into cover, unleashing a deadly volley at the window. As the Corporal peeped through the fresh holes in the wall, he noticed a small round object clutched in the hand of one of the soldiers. This would not be fun.
