[center][img]https://www.goodfreephotos.com/cache/historical-battles/world-war-i/battle-doberdo-between-austria-hungary-and-italy-during-world-war-i_800.jpg?cached=1522493483[/img] [hider=Theme Music (that doesn't suck)][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wuALDsEQgc[/youtube][/hider] [h2]Chapter Three: Guns of Mitteland[/h2][/center] The Mortree was vast, mile after mile of dense, dark vegetation, that was nigh on impenetrable. It was the last untamed space on the continent, though even here there was a slash in the landscape that marked the arrival of modernity. A dark patch of dirt and steel wide enough to accomodate two railway tracks carrying goods and passengers between the Inburian Empire and her most ancient and trusted ally in the Kingdom of Mitteland. The ship followed the course of that scar on the landscape. At first Arkadios thought it was a continuation of the Great Partition Range, but as they drew closer it was clear they were looking at smoke rising from the forrest below in thick grey bellows that blended with the craggy flint slopes of the Partition Range. Lots of smoke. So Inbur's allies had rallied to her defense... but it also didn't take a genius to realise the Mittelanders had become bogged down in heavy fighting along the train tracks. With such a narrow front, a few machine guns and mortars, some competent engineers, and a few reels of barbed wire, the Calarians could slow the Mittelander advance to a brutal, bloody crawl. It would be easy enough to fly around them, though, Arkadios wagered, trying to fly through the Partition Range with a hold full of gold was a recipe for suicide - they couldn't get high enough that a stray gust of wind wouldn't dash the fragile craft against the jagged peaks. He sighed, then spoke to the bridge, "Take us a mile North of the track... and someone get on the Wireless to let the Mittelvolk know we're coming. I'd hate to be brought down by the machineguns of some over eager conscripts thinking we're a Calarian bombing gun. Tell them we'll make for Elvesland, there should be mooring for a dirigible in the capital." Idly he toyed with the clasp holding his pistol in it's holster. It would be good to be surrounded by friendly soldiers again.