Black Source #theWattys2016

Marshal

Mines exploded in the distance signaling the approach of the Mod Army, their blitzkrieg like a tsunami with swells of white, translucent tanks crashing against the land to make way for their Mod Soldiers. Armed with light rifles and concussion suits, the Mod Army had the technical advantage on the battle field. The Infidels' delta base, stationed in the heart of Nashville, did well holding off minor forces, but ever since the Mod Army had begun their conquest to extend the rule of Arcana with their advanced technology, no Infidel outpost could stand against them. With delta base under siege, the Infidels would lose footing that could cost them the war. The Mod colonies north of the base would be forever lost, and the Infidels' chances of liberating their captives would be rendered futile.

Commander Hesh, leader of the eastern Infidel legions, lowered the binoculars from his eyes and turned to the sniper unit. "The mines won't hold them for long," he said. "Once they've breached the city walls, our bombers will engage their hover tanks, and break their formation, exposing their footmen." The commander knew how slim their chances were, and that it would take a miracle for them to hold their ground.

"Our troops on the ground are counting on us," the commander prompted. "We can't afford to let them down." He looked out at the city walls. "Take your positions!" snipers and scouts scattered across the rooftops and mounted their rifles. Firing a flare into the air, the commander signaled all the sniper units stationed throughout the city. They're numbering was just under a hundred troops.

Mod tanks demolished the city's fortifications, and shockwaves reverberated through its walls. With one hover tank they were nearly impossible to beat, but with five of them, they were unstoppable. The commander glassed the Mod forces again, ignoring the terrible odds of 3-1.

Glancing over his shoulder, the commander turned to find Marshal—a lanky, freckle faced boy—braced in the fetal position, clasping his hands to his head. Despite having taught Marshal everything he knew, the kid was still hopeless. If he could fight as hard as he could run, he'd be a great soldier. To keep an eye on him, the commander assigned him to his sniper unit, half hoping the kid would shape up. But sadly, he had more zeal then he did potential; he had offered to stay and fight instead of double back to alpha base like the other refugees.

Another shockwave and the hover tanks crashed through the city walls, and immediately RPGs careened into the tanks deflecting off their shields into the surrounding buildings. The commander narrowed his eyes, disgusted with the bombers' lack of success. The tanks formation didn't falter as they bombarded the Infidel ground troops. Without an opening, the sniper units were useless.

The commander cursed.

The tanks, wailing like banshees, fired lightning from their cannons, obliterating the bombers and bringing structures down over them. Completely protected within the formation of the hover tanks, the Mod Soldiers took no casualties. Before Hesh lost hope, a bomber stood from the rubble, RPG in hand, and fired a rocket into the formation, destroying one of the five tanks. Turning their attention on him, the remaining tanks wheeled their cannons around and vaporized him.

"There's our opening!" the commander shouted, "Light them up!"

Sniper fire rained down on the Mod Soldiers, dropping them like flies. The sniper units had to do as much damage as they could before the tanks discovered their position. The battle lit up the city with fireworks and explosives. While barraging the Mod Soldiers, Hesh allowed himself to smile as he scanned the scrimmage below. As he congratulated his unit, the commander turned to see a wave of Mod reinforcements marching on the city's flank.

They had come straight from the conflict zone further north. The color drained from his face. He knew they were doomed. The snipers and scouts in his unit had also seen the coming calamity and held their fire, faithfully awaiting the commander's orders. The Infidels had been fighting a scouting unit all along, while the real armada charged at their backs. Fearing for the young boy's life, the commander turned his attention to Marshal, who sat trembling on the rooftop.