Chapter Two Hundred and Sixty-Seven. The rising Tide.

Chapter Two Hundred and Sixty-Seven. The rising Tide.

Five days earlier...

Kellan frowned. "I've endeavored to enlighten you, but it appears that I've failed," he began. "While this is a middling tide, it is still incredibly dangerous. Level fifty monsters, tier eights, are going to appear rapidly. Under normal circumstances, a well-trained team of tier six people, with affinity crystals, are able to hold back the constant influx of monsters along a fifty-foot section of wall." He leaned forward and tapped his finger on the conference table hard enough to leave a half-inch deep dent in the hardwood. "There is a reason I have called my people into Harbordeep to shelter them behind her walls. Very few towns have the capability to weather a tide, and while I can respect the destructive power of your weapons, I'm not sure you have the same respect for tier eight monsters."

"Your Majesty, we are not unaware of the power these monsters possess," Elania replied. "Nor do we endanger our forces recklessly. There will be people ready to open portals to allow for a retreat, if necessary." She sighed, "the truth of the matter is that we need to see how effective our military will be against them. You've done us a great service with your efforts to ensure that everyone from Earth is sheltered on Thayland during the integration, however, the fact is that we have announced that we will have portals open in half a dozen locations throughout the country, ensuring that any stragglers have the opportunity to seek safety. To that end, we'd like to use this tide as a sort of test run."

Kellan shook his head again. "I'll allow it, if only to show you how foolish it is to expect low-level individuals to face a tide, even in numbers. But," he waved a finger, "you will do so alone. I'll not lift a claw to aid you."

"I understand," Elania nodded, "we'll start pulling essential personal out of stasis immediately."

"Is this going to be a stand-up fight, sir, or another bug hunt?"

"All I know Gudson, is that I'm glad to be out of that coffin," Captain Horman replied, stretching as best he could in the commander's seat of his M1 Abrams.

"All respect, sir, at least yours wasn't black," Gudson replied with a grin. "I really didn't like climbing into that thing."

"Copy that," Haversham added from the loader's position, agreeing with the gunner.

"I guess I should be grateful they hadn't put me on ice yet," the driver, Farve, added.

The four-man crew had served together for over two years, and given the nature of the inherently tight quarters of their tank, they'd become a tightly-knit group.

"You've got the hang of that ammo rack of holding, right, Haversham?" Captain Horman asked.

The Captain wasn't entirely sure about all this magic bullshit. He knew it was real enough, and he'd used a handful of those crystals to reach level five himself. He'd been impressed by the changes that leveling up had wrought, but he wasn't sure he was ready for the world to run on video game logic.

"Yes, sir," Haversham replied with a grin. "It's fucking magic, with this bad boy," he tapped the rack, "you're not limited to forty-two rounds." His grin widened, becoming almost manic. "We've got a thousand rounds, sir. We are officially the baddest motherfucker in the valley."

Horman nodded. The nature of an armored division prevented exercises on that level, with squadron, or rarely, battalion exercises being the norm. Seeing the entirety of the 1st Armored Division deployed on the eastern side of Glacier Valley was inspiring. There were two hundred and sixty tanks ready to face the tide they'd been briefed on.

Of course, they wouldn't be working alone. The cannon cockers were in the rear, while the A10's loitering overhead, the Falcons, Eagles, and Blackhawks were still waiting for orders. While Horman was fairly dismissive of most of the aircraft, he held a special place in his heart for the A10, as it most closely resembled in function, if not form, his beloved tank.

He stiffened as the message came across the command channel. The King of Greenwold, a Dragon, if you could believe it, had indicated the tide was due to start in five minutes.

He settled down into his chair and forced himself to relay the informatiat novelhall.com

"We have drone imagery," Ed reported as he tapped his tablet, changing the huge display at the end of the conference table to show an image of Glacier Valley.

Elania shook her head in dismay. It appeared that the monsters attacking Glacier Valley were, for the most part, insectoid monstrosities, thirty feet tall and half that again long. The camera had zoomed in on one of them as it darted towards the valley, skittering in that alien insect fashion that always creeped her out. She watched as it staggered, nearly blasted off its six feet by the impact of an explosive round. It continued forward, its carapace blacked and cracked, but having lost much of its momentum, the next shot landed directly against its chest. That cost the beast a scythe-tipped arm, but it still continued after regaining its feet. The third round was the end of it, its exoskeleton having been too badly damaged to resist the penetrative round, which exploded inside the monster, putting it down for good.

The camera pulled back, and the battlefield was shown in its entirety again. It was hard to take it all in, as artillery landed with precision timing, while tanks fired their fearsome main guns every five seconds, groups of three tanks targeting monsters as one as the commanders realized it would take three rounds to put an unwounded target down. Badly wounded monsters who managed to approach within a hundred yards were needled to death by fifty caliber machine gun emplacements. The only small arms fire that had any effect was that of the few level twenty-five rifleman groups.

"Should we pull back the infantry?" Elania asked.

"We're in the process of rotating in more fifties," Ed replied, "see this green line?"

"Eleven hundred and fixty-six!" Farve called back.

None of the tank's crewmen could hear very well at the moment.

"Loading sabot!" Haversham yelled, yanking open the breach of the main gun, flooding the tank with the smell of more cordite.

"I fucking love that smell!" Captain Horman exulted. An ex-wife and a string of ex-girlfriends could attest to that fact. They'd all complained at one time or another that they were coming in second to his tank, but they couldn't understand. No one who hadn't felt the blood-rushing adrenaline of firing the hundred and twenty millimeter gun could.

"The ads say to see a doctor after four hours, but I've been rock hard for forty!" Gudson agreed.

"Target!" Horam shouted hoarsely.

"Sabot away!" Gudson yelled.

"We're done, Madam President," Ed replied, drawing a hand across his face, feeling the stubble. "even if we had the ordinance to keep fighting, the monsters are within the hundred-foot limit. We need to start an orderly retreat now."

The President nodded slowly. "Forty-eight hours," she muttered.

Ed grimaced. "The projections were wildly optimistic," he shook his head. "We managed to hold our ground by expending more ordinance in a day than we normally fire in a year. But whenever the big monsters showed up, we lost ground that we couldn't regain."

The big monsters were what Kellan had referred to as peak tier eight. Estimates were that the majority of the monsters in the tide were tier eight, between level forty and fifty. Those they could handle, if barely. The level sixty-five monsters, standing at over forty feet tall and sixty feet long, had taken an immense concentration of fire to bring down. The data showed that twenty-five well-aimed sabot rounds were required to punch through its armor, which meant those twenty-five tanks weren't taking out eight other monsters, allowing the battle lines to creep forward.

"Honestly, what we really learned is that while our modern armaments are an incredible force multiplier for the level-less soldier, you can achieve the same effect with as an M1 Abrams with a single tier six person who has used an Affinity Crystal," Ed sighed.

"I'd say the biggest takeaway is that we cannot leave anyone behind," The President replied. "We might be able to fight a very minor, very quick rear guard action as we retreat through a portal, but after seeing this, I'm not at all confident that we'll be able to hold any ground at all during the integration."

Ed nodded, glad that she'd come to that conclusion on her own. "At least we saved that village," he offered, "that should help solidify our position in the King's good graces."

That had been a sad story. The expedition to found a new settlement had successfully navigated the continent, then tragedy had struck when the ritual to open a portal back to Harbordeep had been interrupted, the backlash killing both of their dimensionalists. The settlement hadn't had anyone superfluous to reincarnate as a dimensionalist. They did have a half a dozen tier six people, who ensured that the waves were handled without loss of life, but the tide had been too much. If not for the timely intervention of the United States Army, they would have been lost.

"I'm wondering why the King didn't know they were there," Elania mused.

"From what I understand, while he does inspect his towns and cities, he doesn't do a fly-over on the whole continent, as it's just too damn big," Ed replied. "After this, he'll probably be interested in our satellites, and I recommend we lease him enough to allow for complete coverage of the continent."

"It's going to get busy up there," Elania grumbled. "They've already put half a dozen communication satellites up there."

"Huh," Ed grunted, "I knew that was coming down the pipeline, but I didn't know it had already happened."

"Jack Scaligio," Elania replied dryly.

"Jack," Ed agreed.

That man had hit the ground running, introducing electricity, movies, and cellular communications to Greenwold, then leveraging the goodwill from that to allow him to build his own city.

Ed wondered how far along that project had gotten.