Contrasting with the battles being waged in France, Austria was calm and quiet. Nearly half a year of violence had scarred its landscape, spearheaded by the Werwolf Brigade. The rot had been systematically cut out from the nation and burned away in the fire of war.
Austria now stood strong. Its military assets had been reorganized under the crown of the Habsburgs, its soldiers given proper treatment for the horrors that plagued their minds and the drugs that had ravaged their bodies. The banners of the Archduchy now flowed proudly through the streets of Vienna as tanks and armored vehicles rolled through like conquering heroes returning from a decade-long campaign in the ancient East.
But the infamous Werwolf Brigade and its dreaded banners were nowhere to be seen.
They remained at the borders—baring their fangs at the lands of Saint Stephen. Hungary and the Balkans could feel the weight of a true apex predator watching from the hills, waiting for the moment to strike.
