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Interlude: Holding the Bag
“Heavies pushing the left flank. Serpent Two, detach lance and contain. Septim One, watch the line. Hold your advance until their arrival.”
Directing the battle from the frontline was dangerous. Risky. Foolhardy.
“Hammer company, move to point 35 and hold. The DelaFlow building. Link up with Captain Shina there and hit the reds when they move through. All conventional forces, follow suit”
Warrior-kings fighting in the phalanx would command the utmost respect and loyalty by personal example. The bravest warrior, the first in the formation. Masters of poking the other man with sharpened bits of metal. First to get their eyes poked out.
“Where is the reserve? Can you raise Henderson on 68?”
So Generals of antiquity would position with their reserve, waiting for the decisive moment to ride forth and turn the battle in their favor, leaving the front to centurions and lieutenants.
“No? Cobra six, head back to the Treasury building. Convey message- Am facing battalion-strength forces. Marik’s push is here, at the Senate building. Reinforcements are needed to hold it. Major Blake is counter-attacking. Copy?”
Then the position would be on a hill above, surveying his marching men and deciding when to send runners for maximum effect. Perhaps the odd duck would bring the colors to the fore, ride in front of his army to inspire the rank-and-file, but the successful gentlemen of the age would stay clear of that foolishness and bullets it attracted.
“The rest of Cobra, Adder, and Python companies, with me.”
So with every new advancement of command and control, the leaders of an army would remove themselves further and further from danger, for their loss would scuttle all coordination. Radio, comms, IFFs, and tracking would allow them to follow and direct from the rear far better than any warrior on the front.
He flips on the external speakers, directing them at his gathering of soldiers.
“Riders aboard. No one walks without being fully loaded. We’ll need every one of them.”
In this battle, though, the Patriots had removed those advancements and advantages. Ten-ton machines and vehicles were stuck doing the jobs of the runners on a greater scale, hoping that they would run free of the chaotic brawling. Every unit for themselves, acting as they see fit. A hundred heart muscles beating out of time.
All the benefits of a decapitation strike, without actually accomplishing such. Knocked out the upgrades, too.
