Across the frozen northern expanse, the four lead War-Mammoths thundered past the seven-hundred-yard marker, their massive feet churning the snow into a blinding cloud of white mist.
High upon the corner towers of Bastion Alpha, the four dwarven gun captains leaned over their sighting prisms.
Their leather-gloved hands held the brass fine-scale wheels, adjusting the lateral cross down to fractions of a degree. Beside each gun, an apprentice watched the glass liquid silver level on the mana-charge bank housing. He confirmed that the live spark charge had peaked at four thousand runic volts.
“Seven hundred yards,” Toby Karr called out from the sighting scope platform, his voice crisp and clear. “Six hundred and eighty... Six hundred and fifty... Windage holding at three knots from the northwest.”
Giles Croft stood with his pocket watch open in his palm, his grey eyes calculating the converging velocities.
“Six hundred and twenty yards,” Toby chanted. “Six hundred yards! Vanguard crossing the interdiction line now!”
Giles snapped his pocket watch closed with a sharp metal click.
“Battery Alpha,” Giles commanded, his voice dropping into the quiet rhythm of certainty. “Fire.”
