"The cold is a brutal force..." | "холодной освобождается от слабых".
City Outskirts, Argyz
Silʹnyĭ Empire
Late Winter, 1929 - Final Days of The Iron War
"It all ends with this victory, our suffering ends now."
Years...years of warfare in the cold, all leading up to this. The arctic gust still rushed in from the north, but at this point the chills were nothing detrimental. Soft footsteps could be heard by those who concentrated hard enough...but still nothing actually audible. The city had become a ghost town, or so it seemed. Through the blinding blanket of snow, one would notice the young eyes peeking from behind the frozen windows of apartment buildings. One might also catch the muted crying from beneath the ground...the subsurface of the city was alive...but when one is trapped, going down is often a last option.
Argyz was the final stepping stone to liberation, the final breathing arm of the oppressive. Once the 'glorious' jewel of the Silʹnyĭ was now reduced to a ghost town at the verge of being conquered. City by city, for the last four years, the White Army of Vortim had conquered and 'liberated'...and now the final wave of the White Army stood right at the doorstep of the Silʹnyĭ Capital...right at the doorstep of freedom. The oppressive government whom they had once trusted to care for their families had betrayed them, and thus the White Army rose from under the foot of tyranny. The thought of 'Emperors' and 'Empresses' living in luxury whilst the peasants and artisans of the nation fell one by one to the plague of malnourishment was sickening...how could these 'rulers' live with themselves?
The sun began to set upon the snowcapped mountains to the west, and the cold gust picked up once more from the northern waters. As it often did, the visibility around Argyz had once again become low, one could not see no more than ten feet in front of them with perfect clarity. Yet, out the outskirts of the city a small band of White Army soldiers marched forward. Maybe several hundred men, most of them logistical support, marched forward. At this stage in the war, a good medic was just as valuable as ten infantrymen...and a slice of bread was just as good as twenty. The White Army had barely managed to make it to Argyz, moral was nearly depleted...but the desire to end The Silʹnyĭ Empire still burned within all their hearts...and they were almost there. Every man marching towards the city knew that they would likely not survive this winter...but they also knew that Silʹnyĭ wouldn't either...
The men continued their march through the cold, savoring every moment the harsh wind died down. The men had slowly watched the snow blanketed fields slowly morph into small cottages and scattered factories...and eventually cityscape. Now the men were marching into Argyz, the final destination...without opposition. There was no enemy forces, the Silnese had thrown all their remaining might into the Battle of The Yilk'za River a month earlier, a battle which ultimately led to this very day. The only true threat to a White victory was now the brutal cold and the deficiency of food. At worst the Silnese might end up having a few Imperial Guard establishments near or within Silʹnyĭ Square, but the Imperial Guard posed no true threat to the White Army at this point.
Their was no turning back now, there was no more rest now. Time was precious... there was no telling how much longer the White Army could survive in these conditions without a more abundant supply of food and water...without a practical way to stay warm... Maybe...if the soldiers were lucky, they would be able to survive for a few more weeks, pending the result of Argyz's annexation. Argyz was right on the border of the Sea of a Thousand Miles, where Yezli' Naval support was supposed to arrive within a month...the men would be safe if they could manage to survive that long...but could they? At the moment, it didn't matter...all they could do was march...
Years...years of warfare in the cold, all leading up to this. The arctic gust still rushed in from the north, but at this point the chills were nothing detrimental. Soft footsteps could be heard by those who concentrated hard enough...but still nothing actually audible. The city had become a ghost town, or so it seemed. Through the blinding blanket of snow, one would notice the young eyes peeking from behind the frozen windows of apartment buildings. One might also catch the muted crying from beneath the ground...the subsurface of the city was alive...but when one is trapped, going down is often a last option.
Argyz was the final stepping stone to liberation, the final breathing arm of the oppressive. Once the 'glorious' jewel of the Silʹnyĭ was now reduced to a ghost town at the verge of being conquered. City by city, for the last four years, the White Army of Vortim had conquered and 'liberated'...and now the final wave of the White Army stood right at the doorstep of the Silʹnyĭ Capital...right at the doorstep of freedom. The oppressive government whom they had once trusted to care for their families had betrayed them, and thus the White Army rose from under the foot of tyranny. The thought of 'Emperors' and 'Empresses' living in luxury whilst the peasants and artisans of the nation fell one by one to the plague of malnourishment was sickening...how could these 'rulers' live with themselves?
***
The sun began to set upon the snowcapped mountains to the west, and the cold gust picked up once more from the northern waters. As it often did, the visibility around Argyz had once again become low, one could not see no more than ten feet in front of them with perfect clarity. Yet, out the outskirts of the city a small band of White Army soldiers marched forward. Maybe several hundred men, most of them logistical support, marched forward. At this stage in the war, a good medic was just as valuable as ten infantrymen...and a slice of bread was just as good as twenty. The White Army had barely managed to make it to Argyz, moral was nearly depleted...but the desire to end The Silʹnyĭ Empire still burned within all their hearts...and they were almost there. Every man marching towards the city knew that they would likely not survive this winter...but they also knew that Silʹnyĭ wouldn't either...
The men continued their march through the cold, savoring every moment the harsh wind died down. The men had slowly watched the snow blanketed fields slowly morph into small cottages and scattered factories...and eventually cityscape. Now the men were marching into Argyz, the final destination...without opposition. There was no enemy forces, the Silnese had thrown all their remaining might into the Battle of The Yilk'za River a month earlier, a battle which ultimately led to this very day. The only true threat to a White victory was now the brutal cold and the deficiency of food. At worst the Silnese might end up having a few Imperial Guard establishments near or within Silʹnyĭ Square, but the Imperial Guard posed no true threat to the White Army at this point.
***
Their was no turning back now, there was no more rest now. Time was precious... there was no telling how much longer the White Army could survive in these conditions without a more abundant supply of food and water...without a practical way to stay warm... Maybe...if the soldiers were lucky, they would be able to survive for a few more weeks, pending the result of Argyz's annexation. Argyz was right on the border of the Sea of a Thousand Miles, where Yezli' Naval support was supposed to arrive within a month...the men would be safe if they could manage to survive that long...but could they? At the moment, it didn't matter...all they could do was march...