[b]'Sir, I don't think they can hold out much longer...'[/b] A fresh hail of fire smashed through the shop window, forcing the Imperial soldiers to duck. The lieutenant, who had so recently found himself ranking officer, crawled over to the back wall where the platoon's corpsman was tending to a pair of injured men. [b]'How bad, Corporal? Can they move?'[/b] The young man shook his head in misery, fully aware that with the limited medical equipment on hand, all he could do was make them comfortable. Swearing under his breath, the officer tried to count his options. The Gallians had advanced far enough into the town that retaking it would be damn near impossible for his remaining soldiers. The tank crew had volunteered to stall them, but he knew that they would likely have lancers if not a tank of their own; the crew could buy time but little else. He came to a grim decision.

[b]'Sergeant Auer. My men cannot continue. I am ordering a withdrawal from the village. You are to hold them for five minutes, just five minutes and then retreat along the east road. We will rendezvous a few miles away. Emperor's speed, Sergeant.'[/b] As the driver worked to keep the tank facing toward the enemy's shifting positions, their orders came in through a scratchy radio call. [b]'Thank you sir.',[/b] the commander responded, glad to have bought them some respite. [b]'We'll level the whole damn village before we leave.'[/b] He cut the radio and peered back through his limited cupola sights. [b]'Sarge, HE shell's loaded, I need a target!'[/b] There was another brief silence, broken only by the reverberation of the driver's MG. [b]'... Target left, farmhouse, second floor.'[/b] Before the gunner could fire, a wash of blue flame eclipsed the cupola.

[h3]Corporal Celeste Stichler, Gallian Militia[/h3]

[b]'She hit it! I think it's blown the engine.'[/b] For a moment Celeste dared to hope it might be over, but as she peered over the window sill she found herself staring down the very much intact barrel of the tank's main gun. [b]'... [i]Run![/i] Get out, move!'[/b] She belted it toward the rear door, grabbing the first person she could reach to drag along. They almost made it out before the building collapsed on top of them.

[h3]Sergeant Harald, Gallian Militia[/h3]

Meanwhile the sergeant was distracted by the hail of MG fire spewing from the hull-mounted gun. Valk alone knew how she had done it, but Durandal had slipping in around the damn thing to hit the radiator; by rights it should be dead. Clearly the crew disagreed. [b]'Bons, Glaive. I'll keep their attention, you hook around the left.'[/b] Luckily the fire from the shop had ceased. Either they were lying low, waiting to hit them as they advanced, or else retreated. No way of knowing. The two soldiers hesitated, so Harald sent them packing with a boot up Bons' arse. As they rounded the corner to sneak around, Harald turned his attention back to the tank still hammering his position- just in time to see the main gun fire. His eyes widened in horror as Stichler's building exploded and collapsed inward; he didn't see anyone escape.

[h3]Private Alonso Bons, Gallian Militia[/h3]

[i]Why her? Why do I have to fight Imps with an Imp at my back?[/i] Glaive led the way around the back of the tank, with Alonso trailing somewhat unenthusiastically behind. Necessity had forced the sergeant to send them in particular, but that didn't make it any better in his books. He settled in on the tank's flank as she ran further around, no doubt planning to hit it with a satchel charge in case his lance didn't work. [i]Fair plan,[/i] he thought, [i]But this Imp's mine.[/i] Alonso lined the sights of his Imperial lance up carefully and fired.