The Serein Campain

A Mercian squad infiltrates enemy lines to destroy an artillery observer, navigating mistrust, fragile alliances, and escalating war.

Plot

The Serein Campaign Crossing the River The world had already begun to burn. What remained was deciding who would be left standing in the ashes. The Empire of Drakkenhold had struck first—fast, precise, and without mercy. Their advance shattered the borderlands, but at the River Serein, momentum died in mud and blood. Now both sides clung to opposite banks, trading artillery fire like a ritual neither could escape. The Republic of Veridian dug deep, their guns tearing the northern plains into a wasteland. Every morning, like clockwork, the bombardment began again. And every morning, men disappeared into it. Far away, kings argued over maps and margins. Fleets blockaded distant shores. Aircraft carved lines across the sky. But here—none of that mattered. Here, it was just the trench. Squad Status Sergeant Harwick — Steady Corporal Voss — Detached PFC “Brick” Halden — Restless Specialist Ren — Focused Scout-Mage Tamsin — Guarded Private Dast — Anxious Rain tapped softly against the timber supports as the squad gathered. No speeches. No ceremony. Just a map, a target, and the quiet understanding that not all of them might come back. Objective: Cross the Serein under cover of darkness. Infiltrate enemy lines. Eliminate the artillery observer at Caldern Mill. Extract before dawn.

Opening scene

The world was a powder keg, and the fuse had been burning for months. The Empire of Drakkenhold, driven by hunger for the fertile plains of the Republic of Veridian, had unleashed its Blitzkrieg across the mountain borders. Fast-moving armored divisions tore through the initial Veridian defenses with brutal efficiency, shattering static lines that had stood for decades. Now, the war had slowed—but it had not calmed. It had settled into a grinding stalemate along the River Serein, a wide, sluggish artery cutting through northern Veridian farmland. The Veridians had dug in deep along the southern bank, their massive artillery batteries turning the far side into a cratered wasteland. Every morning at oh-six-hundred, the guns spoke—and men died. Across the line, Drakkenhold adapted. Their elite mage battalions and precision air strikes hunted those artillery positions relentlessly, trying to silence the guns that denied them the plains. Far from the front, the United Petty Kingdoms of Merca debated the war in council chambers. Their fleets already choked Drakkenhold’s trade routes, but committing ground forces had proven… complicated. Politics moved slower than war. Meanwhile, the Aethon Theocracy tested its growing air power, launching aggressive patrols and carrier exercises near Mercian shipping lanes—an unmistakable warning. And in a rain-soaked trench along the southern bank of the Serein, the war felt much smaller. And much closer. Second Lieutenant You, attached to the Mercian Expeditionary Force’s 3rd Ranger Battalion, stood with a six-man squad under their command. The trench was narrow, reinforced with wet timber and sagging sandbags. Everything smelled of mud, oil, and damp wool. Rain fell in a steady, cold drizzle, collecting in shallow puddles along the trench floor. Your squad was already assembled. Sergeant Harwick stood nearby, arms relaxed, watching everything. Voss lingered slightly apart, rifle within reach, eyes scanning without seeming to move. Brick sat on a crate, muttering to himself as he checked a charge for the third time. Ren knelt beside an open medical satchel, methodically organizing supplies. Tamsin stood near the edge of the trench, distant, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the visible horizon. Dast crouched low with his radio set, quietly adjusting dials, listening for something only he could hear. Harwick stepped forward and unrolled a damp map against the trench wall, pinning it in place with a gloved hand. “Command’s got a problem,” he said plainly. He tapped a position several miles behind Drakkenhold’s forward line. “Veridian scouts picked up a mobile artillery observer post near Caldern Mill crossing. That’s what’s been walking shells onto this section every morning.” A distant rumble echoed upstream, as if on cue. “They relocate every forty-eight hours. Makes counter-battery useless. So…” He glanced up at you. “Brass wants it handled directly.” A brief pause. “Six of us. In and out. Cross the river at Millford shallows, move through their rear line, eliminate the observer team, and get out before they know what hit them.” Another pause—longer this time. “No Veridian involvement. Officially, this is a Mercian operation.” His tone didn’t change, but the implication hung there. Tamsin didn’t react. “Step-off in two hours,” Harwick continued. “River’s high, patrols are tighter than usual, and if that observer gets a signal off—” he tapped the map again “—we’re not making it back across.” The rain picked up slightly, drumming against wood and canvas. Harwick looked at you directly. “Any Questions?”

Characters

• Sergeant Elias Harwick
• Corporal Jannik Voss
• Private First Class “Brick” Halden
• Specialist Lio Ren
• Scout-Mage Tamsin Vale
• Private Coren Dast

Tags: War Military Fantasy Supernatural Magical Soldier PoliticalIntrigue Historical AnyPOV Combat

Chats Started: 6

By: boots

Stories

• A Crown Built for Two: My Racist Elven Wife
• The Fox and the March
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• Tyrant's Gate
• Soul System Integrated

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