Quick note: The Vistarans are at the level of WW1 tech and ww2 tech communication and AA.
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The Vistaran Advance
The Vistaran Royal Army moved with overwhelming confidence, their banners fluttering high as they approached the Frechenian defensive line.
The army, composed of 120,000 disciplined soldiers, had been meticulously trained for the invasion. Dressed in field uniforms of deep emerald and gold-trimmed armor plates, they advanced in staggered formations across the rolling grasslands leading to the Frechenian coast. Rows of infantry, followed closely by heavily armored cavalry and mobile artillery teams, created a seemingly unstoppable tide of force.
At the heart of the advance was Generale Riccardo Salvi, a seasoned Vistaran commander, his piercing gaze fixed on the battlefield from atop his gallant destrier. His officers, including Colonnello Vittore Bellandi and Maggiore Enzo Catelli, rode beside him, observing the landscape ahead.
"Our intelligence suggests minimal defenses," Bellandi assured his general. "The Frechenians are disorganized. If we seize their ports, their supply chains will collapse."
Salvi nodded. "Then we strike swiftly—before they can reinforce their positions."
But as the army crested the final ridge, the battlefield stretched before them—an endless maze of entrenched fortifications, artillery nests, and machine gun placements.
Frechen and Wallonian soldiers, clad in urban camouflage and fortified helmets, remained eerily still within their deep trench systems. Rows upon rows of barbed wire, anti-tank ditches, and defensive bunkers lined the battlefield.
This was no scattered defense.
This was a death trap.
Salvi's eyes widened. "No… No, this isn't what we were told."
Before the realization could set in, the sky erupted in fire and steel.
The Barrage Begins
The opening salvo came without warning.
A thunderous roar of artillery shattered the sky, and the Vistaran vanguard was immediately swallowed by an inferno of shrapnel and explosive fire.
Frechenian 75mm field cannons and Wallonian 155mm howitzers, hidden miles away in reinforced positions, unleashed wave after wave of high-explosive shells into the densely packed formations of advancing Vistaran troops.
The very earth trembled under the sheer force of the bombardment.
Hundreds of Vistaran soldiers were torn apart instantly—shattered by concussive blasts, ripped to pieces by white-hot shrapnel, or buried alive in collapsing foxholes. Horses shrieked as artillery shells detonated among their ranks, sending flaming wreckage and bodies flying in all directions.
Salvi and his officers barely had time to react.
"SPREAD OUT!" he roared, his voice struggling to rise over the deafening explosions. "FIND COVER!"
But there was no cover.
The Vistaran army, marching in rigid formations, had no trenches to fall back into. Their tight columns became easy targets, and the artillery barrage did not stop.
Hundreds more fell in minutes. Officers screamed desperate orders, but entire platoons were vaporized before they could reposition.
And then—the machine guns opened fire.
The Machine Gun Onslaught
From the trenches, Frechenian and Wallonian heavy machine guns thundered to life, spewing out thousands of rounds per minute.
Bunkers and elevated pillboxes housed lethal gun crews, mowing down Vistaran infantry like a scythe through wheat. Armor-piercing rounds punched through metal breastplates and tore into flesh.
Soldiers collapsed in heaps, their bodies riddled with bullets before they even understood where the fire was coming from.
The battlefield turned into a blood-soaked nightmare.
Salvi, still atop his command vehicle, watched in horror as his entire vanguard disintegrated in minutes. The artillery never ceased, and the machine gun fire showed no mercy.
"We must retreat!" Bellandi shouted, covered in dirt and blood.
"No!" Salvi snarled, grabbing him by the collar. "We push forward! SEND IN THE CAVALRY!"
The Cavalry Charge
Desperate to break the Frechenian line, 3,000 heavily armored cavalry—the pride of the Vistaran Royal Army—charged forward.
Golden-plated lances gleamed under the fire-lit sky as the cavalry surged ahead, their warhorses galloping through the rain of bullets and shrapnel.
For a brief moment, it seemed as though they might succeed. The sheer force of their momentum shattered the first line of barbed wire, and they were within 200 meters of the trenches.
Then—the mortars struck.
Wallonian 120mm mortars, pre-ranged for perfect accuracy, obliterated the cavalry charge.
Explosions ripped through the front lines, sending horses and men flying into the air. Severed limbs and shattered armor rained across the battlefield as the once-proud Vistaran cavalry was reduced to burning wreckage and broken corpses.
The few who survived the initial barrage were quickly gunned down by Frechenian riflemen, their bolt-action weapons delivering precise, lethal shots.
Within ten minutes, the entire cavalry regiment had been annihilated.
Salvi watched in stunned silence. "Dio mio…"
The Counterattack
The moment the cavalry charge failed, Général Alphonse Deschamps gave the order to launch the counteroffensive.
"Deploy the armor! No Vistaran leaves this field alive."
From hidden bunkers and camouflaged trenches, Wallonian-supplied main battle tanks surged forward.
These steel behemoths, equipped with reactive armor and thermal targeting systems, crushed through the remains of the Vistaran vanguard like an unstoppable tide.
Behind them, Frechenian shock troops, wielding semi-automatic rifles and flamethrowers, advanced with ruthless efficiency. Bayonets gleamed as they stormed the burning battlefield, finishing off any wounded Vistaran soldiers in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
The once-organized ranks of the Vistaran Royal Army collapsed into chaos.
Salvi, covered in mud and blood, stared in disbelief as his forces fell apart around him.
"General, we must retreat!" Catelli screamed.
But there was nowhere left to run.
Frechenian and Wallonian forces had completely encircled the remaining Vistaran army.
The 120,000-strong force that had marched so confidently into Frechen was now trapped, with no reinforcements, no supply lines, and no way out.
Salvi clenched his fists, his heart pounding in his chest.
He had led his men into a slaughterhouse.
And this was only the beginning.
The once-proud Vistaran Royal Army, now battered, bloodied, and humiliated, retreated from the Frechenian defensive lines, leaving behind tens of thousands of dead and wounded.
Generale Riccardo Salvi, once confident in an easy victory, now rode at the head of his broken forces, his steel-clad gauntlet gripping the reins of his dust-covered warhorse. Smoke and ash filled the air, the scent of gunpowder and burnt flesh hanging thick over the battlefield.
Their 120,000-strong army had been shattered, and though tens of thousands had survived, they were now low on morale, short on supplies, and relentlessly pursued by the combined Frechenian-Wallonian-Tresnian coalition forces.
"General!" shouted Colonnello Vittore Bellandi, galloping alongside him, his uniform stained with blood. "We must regroup and prepare for the next engagement! If we keep retreating, we'll be slaughtered one by one!"
Salvi knew he was right. They had to make a stand—but where?
Before he could respond, scouts returned from the eastern ridges, their faces pale with fear.
"General! The original escape route is blocked!"
Salvi's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'blocked'?"
"A Tresnian army—30,000 strong—has moved in from the northeast! They've dug in with artillery and machine gun nests. We're trapped!"
A grim silence fell over the Vistaran commanders.
They had nowhere to go.
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The Decision to Hold Ground
Knowing that reinforcements were on their way—240,000 additional soldiers carrying Müller-supplied advanced weaponry—the Vistaran command made a desperate decision.
They would fortify the nearest town and hold it at all costs until either:
1. Reinforcements arrived to break the encirclement.
2. The Vistaran fleet crushed the Frechenian ports, forcing a retreat.
The town of San Mercurio, a modest trading hub nestled between rolling hills and thick forests, would be their last hope.
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The Fortifications of San Mercurio
The Vistaran engineers and surviving troops worked tirelessly through the night, transforming San Mercurio into a fortress.
Multiple layers of trench networks were dug, reinforced with sandbags, concrete barriers, and barbed wire.
Anti-tank ditches were created, making it difficult for enemy armor to advance.
Church towers, stone buildings, and grain silos were converted into machine-gun nests and sniper positions.
Captured artillery pieces from the battlefield were repositioned on the outer ridges of the town, ready to shell advancing forces.
Booby traps and hidden mines were scattered throughout the nearby fields and roads.
With their remaining 80,000 effective soldiers, the Vistaran forces prepared for a brutal siege.
Salvi stood at the highest point in town, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"They will come for us," he muttered. "And when they do… we will make them pay."
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The Coalition's Encirclement
Meanwhile, the coalition forces were already closing in, preparing for a massive assault to wipe out the trapped Vistaran army.
Frechenian troops (140,000) began setting up artillery emplacements around San Mercurio.
Tresnian forces (30,000) established defensive perimeters to prevent any Vistaran breakout attempts.
Wallonian tanks and armored divisions moved into position, preparing for a final attack.
The entire battlefield became a pressure cooker, and the fate of the Vistaran invasion now rested on who would strike first.
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The First Assault on San Mercurio
The dawn was shattered by the thunderous roar of coalition artillery.
From the ridges surrounding San Mercurio, hundreds of howitzers and field cannons unleashed a barrage of fire upon the Vistaran trenches.
Buildings crumbled. Trenches collapsed. Entire sections of the town turned to dust.
But the Vistarans held firm.
As soon as the shelling paused, the first wave of Frechenian troops advanced—40,000 infantry, supported by light tanks and armored cars.
The battle for San Mercurio had begun.
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A Brutal Urban Battle
The Frechenian soldiers charged forward, their bayonets gleaming under the morning sun.
The Vistaran defenses erupted in fire, as machine gunners, snipers, and rifle squads rained hell upon the advancing coalition troops.
The streets turned into a bloodbath.
Frechenian infantry were gunned down in droves, their bodies piling up in the cratered roads.
Wallonian tanks rumbled into town, only to be met with anti-tank grenades and hidden artillery emplacements.
Grenades, mortars, and rifle fire filled the air as hand-to-hand combat erupted in the alleyways.
The Vistarans fought like demons, knowing that defeat meant total annihilation.
Salvi, leading from the front, personally commanded a counterattack, rallying his elite shock troops to push back the Frechenians from the eastern trench lines.
For a moment—it seemed like they were holding.
But the coalition was not finished.
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The Coalition Brings in Heavy Armor
Just as the Vistarans repelled the first wave, a deafening rumble echoed across the battlefield.
From the hills beyond the town, Wallonian heavy tanks—massive, steel-clad beasts—descended upon the trenches.
Shells obliterated entire buildings.
Machine guns tore through the remaining Vistaran defenders.
Coalition infantry poured into the ruins, fighting street by street.
The Vistarans were now outgunned, outmaneuvered, and running out of time.
Salvi turned to his officers.
"Send word to command," he growled. "We need those reinforcements now."
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The Countdown to Reinforcements
Somewhere, miles away, 240,000 fresh Vistaran troops were marching toward the battlefield, armed with Müller-supplied WWII weapons.
If they arrived in time, they could turn the tide.
If they failed—San Mercurio, and the entire Vistaran invasion force, would be wiped out.
And with the Vistaran fleet still on the move, preparing to attack the Frechenian ports, the fate of the entire war now hung in uncertainty.
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