The turning to glass of the Iron Trench stone retaining walls had permanently broken Baron Korgan Rask’s siege, but on the crest of the northern ridge, the forward command stronghold remained an active, deadly castle.
Through his brass sight monocle, Arthur Vance surveyed the enemy stronghold eight hundred yards away.
The stronghold was a brutalist blockhouse of ten-foot heavy concrete, perched atop a raised dark rock outcrop overlooking the entire sector. Mounted along its low roof walls were six rapid-fire tiny autocannons, three self-running anti-aircraft flak turrets. An array of high-pressure wire-guided rocket launchers. Behind the heavy blast gates, Rask had packed his final reserve. Sixty elite wired hired blades, four mechanized crawler tanks, and his personal command retinue.
If Arthur tried a conventional infantry assault across no-man’s-land, Rask’s autocannons would turn the commoner vanguard into a charnel house before they reached the wire.
“There’s only one way to take that stronghold without casualties,” Arthur said. He stood in the dark rock command bay of Dugout Seven.
Captain Varley and Sergeant Corvo leaned over the planning map, their faces tense.
“Arthur, that stronghold has linked fields of fire that cover every foot of the approach,” Varley cautioned. “The concrete is thick enough to withstand aerial bombs. The blast gates are six inches of rolled armor steel. Even with our new dark rock walls, we don’t have the heavy artillery to breach those gates.”
