OUR FINAL GLORY - Short Story from the Tenebrine War

 AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am quite proud of this short story even though it is bordering the size of a novellete (a mini novella). Set in the Tenebrine War, a fictional conflict between the Tenebrine Alliance and the Urmanean Empire that is reminiscent of World War 1. Our Final Glory tells the tale of Captain Marcus Hawken III in his efforts to push back the Imperial advance at St. Tunworth.

I hope you  find yourselves enjoying the short story as I shall be writing more set in the same universe. Let me know what you think of it as well! Happy reading folks.

Our Final Glory

Senior Lieutenant Marcus Hawken III,
13^th Tenebrine “Skullburner” Regiment,
Wolfarstohl Base, Vorkun,
Delta Line
9^th September 2341

            It’s the 9^th of September. The war between our forces at the Tenebrine Sovereign Army and the advancing Urmanean Imperial Legions have been going on for five years. Trenches stretched for miles, dug for endless days and nights. The people that did it were exhausted – and so do we.

          My name is Marcus Hawken, Senior Lieutenant of the Tenebrine Skullburner Regiment. This is my fifth month on the Aldruin Forests, our forces were locked in a stalemate with the opposing force and a No Man’s Land stretched between our networks of trenches.

          We can barely move from our positions. Peak your head a few inches above the ridge and there’s a good chance that a sniper from their side would turn our skulls into chunks of flesh and meat. If they do the same, we respond kindly with a hail of bullets.

Food supplies just arrived this morning. I hoped that it would be enough to feed over three thousand soldiers on the field. Military rations aren’t tasty as the soup and pasta back home. God, I missed Lyana’s cooking. Pretty sure most of us do. Some haven’t returned home for months – others, years. Only a few of us were here since the beginning – even then, it’s a bloody curse.

I walked through the muddied trenches to the mess tent. What I saw were common for us all, sleeping soldiers with their heads rested against the walls, the wounded carried on stretches to the nearest medical station, commanding officers barked at their men. Sometimes, you’d see the recruits dug out more tunnels around our area.

As I arrived there, the place is crowded with hungry men. Hungry and exhausted, I can see their empty gaze, bags beneath their eyes. The rations were handed out, in three small packs for each man – usually a can of baked beans, three pieces of unleavened bread and a small pack of loafed meat.

As I received mine, I walked back to the way I came from. The Ironhearts under my command were on sentry duty ever since the clock hits eight this morning. I always keep track of the clock, of the ticking time that passes every day – so that I could count the days I haven’t died from a bullet to the head.

The Ironhearts were a squad of five men, young and old – tired of the war. Junior Sergeant Percival was one of the oldest, just a couple years younger than I am. I’ve heard he was a kindergarten teacher before the war and now he’s stuck in the front lines just like us. Private First Class William Worfield was the youngest among us, conscripted five months ago and hasn’t seen the true face of war just yet – but witnessing dying men carried on stretchers were probably sufficient enough for that.

First Lieutenant Robert Schofield was my old friend, fought together during the Battle of the Gorffin River a year ago before we were stationed here. It was a bloody fight, 1,600 men against thrice that number would certainly break someone who isn’t used to fighting. Thank God it wasn’t us.

Private Farrier was the newest member of our squad. Assigned to us a week ago – conscripted just like William. I can sometimes see his eagerness shone through his eyes like a gem. I appreciate the youthful and hopeful outlook on the war, but everything he had was nothing more than an empty glory.

“When will we get to the front lines sir?” the newcomer asked with his back against the walls as he chewed onto baked beans stuffed to his mouth.

I took a seat on the bench next to Percival and ripped apart one of the packages open – it was bread baked without yeast, tasteless but more than enough to keep myself running for the next few hours.

“Orders from the top haven’t received just yet Farrier. If the colonel accepts it, it’d be the entire regiment moving to the front,” I answered, taking a huge bite out of that bread.

Percival shrugged. “I heard that the 7^th fought with the Imperials a few days ago at the Gauscian Hills,”

“How’s our boys in the 7^th then?” asked Schofield as he leaned closer to Percival. He had the eagerness in his gaze, or more accurately – a hint of concern for his son is assigned there.

“As far as I am concerned, terribly. Out of the 2,000 stationed there, half of them were either dead or captured,” Percival replied, taking a chug from his canteen of water to wash down the taste of beans in his mouth.

I can see Schofield’s expression changed, bitter and a tinge of resentment in his eyes. Half of the men at the Hills perished. Yet there’s no telling if his son survived the battle.

“You don’t want to write to your wife?” I asked, just wanted to make sure his mind stays clear. No would be the answer as in times like these, grief shall never conquer one’s thoughts.

Schofield shook his head, taking one last spoonful of baked beans into his mouth before tossing the empty can away. “No, there is no confirmation of his death just yet. For all I know, he’s one tough bastard and won’t die to a bloody Imperial bullet,”

I have always admired Schofield for his tenacity. Even there is an air of uncertainty surrounding the fate of his son, yet he pushes on as if nothing had happened. He held onto hope like the rest of us, the hope that is in our hearts – the hope that we shall see the end of the war, no matter how months or years it may take.

The next few hours were rather uneventful. We kept watch of the trench lines or venturing through the network to other outposts, sending messages or carrying supplies to the rest of the regiment. Back then when I was a recruit, my muscles would feel numb and ached, carrying heavy crates of ammunition to the front lines were my duty.

Then, I got to carry a shovel and help them dig trenches to expand further. Lining up sandbags and helped establish machinegun nests with powerful weapons using belt-fed ammunition. Now, my orders were to fight in the front lines – only the newly conscripted young men did what I used to.

Two days later. No Man’s Land is silent as usual. The smell of rotten corpses of both soldiers and horses now linger in the air as the winds blew stronger by noon. Gas masks. I told myself, as my hand reached for the mask that dangled by my hip.

Have to be prepared, or else the Imperial troops on the other side of the field would toss canisters of poisonous gas down our trenches. Green colored smoke rose from every one they would throw – seen this happened during the Battle of Kurskein Castle. Men dropped to the ground, flailing their arms around or choking themselves – struggling to breathe in the air.

I was lucky at the time. Too lucky.

I put on my gas mask. As I tightened the straps, I walked along the trenches and looked to the men that passed me. Some were clearly exhausted, others were returning from the front lines and there are others who marched in unison with their comrades. They were heading to the front lines undoubtedly but then I ask myself, Are they truly ready for this?

They look young and experienced in the face of war. The fresh look on their faces tells me that they were the new ones that arrived earlier today. It seems to have sent more young men to die on the front lines for us. How many  more will perish in this useless war?

They came in droves, wearing pristine uniforms with adequate armor plating underneath, sown between the fabrics which were unlike ours, weathered, whose colors have faded away in time. Something isn’t right.

I find the commander’s room as quickly as I can, maneuvering through the tight spaces as more soldiers marched past me. Reinforcements?

“Lieutenant Marcus!” a soldier approached me, wearing a gas mask over his face as he saluted me with a clenched fist raised to his heart.

I responded with the same gesture. “At ease, what is it private?” the soldier’s one-striped badge stitched to his sleeve caught my eye. Perhaps he is one of the newer recruits? I do not know for certain.

“General Tannhauser requests for your presence in the war room, sir,” said the private.

War room, more like a hastily set-up meeting room. I gave the young lad a nod before sending him off his way.

The general’s here. Something must be off, a big deal. Perhaps a new order will be given to the rest of the regiment or new critical information for us to incorporate in our strategies. Only God knows what it is.

I took a quick glance of my watch. Two hours past midday. The sun is getting hotter by the second and the clouds hung up high in the sky. Sometimes I wished there were the sounds of the Thunderbolt engines flying above our heads. Knowing that our air force is nearby would be more than enough to guarantee a push through the desolate lands and into the Imperial bunkers. But now is not the time apparently.

As I entered the war room, a few men gathered around the map stretched before a wooden table. I raised my hand to my heart, a salute for those that stood ranks above my own.

“Lieutenant Marcus,” the old and wrinkled General Tannhauser greeted my arrival.

His eyes were that of ice, silver strands of hair tucked nicely in the officer’s hat he wore that day. Leather gloves covered his hands and a gas mask dangled by his hip where his coat was tightly strapped together with a belt. A badge of a dragon stitched to his left sleeve – the emblem of his rank – and the skull of the same creature just underneath it – the coat of arms for the Sovereignty.

I noticed his scars, one beneath his square and strong jaw, and the other just beneath his right eye. I’ve seen such markings before. Schofield has one too but he hides it with the collar of his coat. But Tannhauser wore it as if he is not ashamed of his wounds.

“Gentleman,” the general’s voice boomed even as he speaks softly. “Your second-in-command, Lieutenant, where is he?”

“Sergeant Percival is with the rest of my squad at Outpost 3, helping the Troians for a bit,” I answered. My head tilts. The question he asks came out of nowhere, “Has he done something wrong, sir?”

Tannhauser shook his head. His eyes remained on the map before him. “As you have noticed, we have received reinforcements from the 41^st Ironfist Regiment. Most of them are recruits as you can undoubtedly tell,”

How long would they survive out here? A year? A month? A week? I beg to differ. Some men survive longer than others anyway.

“With the new arrivals coming from the south, we have new orders for this regiment,” Tannhauser continued. He turned towards another man, carrying the badge of the Skullburners stitched to the left shoulder of his sleeve. “Colonel McOllie, your orders are to move to west of the Gauscian Hills,”

Gauscian Hills? The name rings in my mind. “Sir, isn’t that where our forces were defeated by the Imperials?”

“Indeed, Marcus. I’ve heard reports from the survivors of the attack that they are falling back to their outpost nearby the Hills,” the general pulled himself back from the table and stood with a straightened spine. “This regiment will reinforce their position and provide support to the retreating Tenebrine soldiers,”

“Understood, general,” the Colonel turned towards me. Something is definitely up. The man took a deep breath, “Lieutenant, I’ll put five hundred of my troops under your command for this mission,”

Whoa, what?!  “500 men? But Colonel McOllie, I’m just a Lieutenant and have been leading a squad up to this – “

“Captain Marcus will be leading the reinforcement to Gauscian Hills, is that alright General?” the Colonel interrupts. At the time, I knew that his words were final and there is no point in arguing.

Tannhauser merely nods, turning his icy gaze towards me. “Congratulations, you have been prompted, Captain. Now, your orders are clear as day. Lead the reinforcements towards the west of the Gauscian Hills and provide support for our boys there. From there, hold out and await further instructions,”

The order itself came to me out of the blue. For almost a year I’ve lead the Ironhearts into battle with nothing but our wits and courage to defend the sovereignty of our country.

I could not oppose the general’s words. The soldiers of Tenebrine do not retreat and we do not simply say no to an order. Such is our way.

My clenched fist rose to my heart and I nodded in response. “Acknowledged sir, we will march by dawn,”

 

Junior Sergeant Alexander Schofield,
7^th Tenebrine “Valorhearts” Regiment,
Gauscian Hill Base, Wolfarstohl, Vorkun,
Delta Line,
10^th September 2341

We call ourselves the Valorhearts – a name that has been stuck with us for the last few years. I can only say that I’m proud to be a part of the regiment. Others said that we were a bunch of tough bastards to kill, others named us the ‘Unlucky Bunch’

I can see why that is. I can see why we were known that way – for we have just barely survived Imperial assault days ago.

3,000 troops, half perished on that fateful day. We were given fresh recruits, green and unsullied by the hands of this useless, cruel war. These boys don’t even know how to aim properly with the rifle.

I can only ponder on what the higher ups in command think of launching the conscription campaign. Thousands of young boys robbed of their adolescent years, thrusted into a war with the promise of glory and fame.

I can tell each of them, that those were nothing but lies. There is no fame, no glory; no heroic deeds can elevate us to godlike status. Only death. Only pain.

There is only chaos.

I walked through the base where I can peer through the wooden doorframes of the dug outs located across the intricate network of trenches. Some were for discussing battle plans, some for supplies and others, were for extra rooms just in case many more wounded soldiers comes in from the front lines.

I walked towards the mess area, knowing where it would be the place where some of the troops will be. It is quieter than usual. Usually, I see crowds of men gathering here as they eat their rations and while it’s still crowded, there’s an eerie sense of silence.

Well, at least we got double rations for the day.

I took my own portion of the food and find a place to sit, away from the masses. I like it peaceful, quiet and a silent place than the rest.

I chose to sit next to my old schoolmate, Lance Corporal Howard. He joined a few months later than I am. Studied in the same course and ended up fighting in the same regiment – fate has its ways.

“Food tastes bad today,” said Howard as he took a huge bite out of the unleavened bread.

“When has it ever tastes good for us soldiers?” I scoffed, opening the can of beans given to me. “At least the food isn’t terrible like that one restaurant in Edelheim,”

“You mean Bob’s Eatery? They don’t taste that awful,”

“You said that because Athena works there. Explains all the red faced moments you entered the place,” I said, a cheeky grin formed on my face.

He stuttered. “P-perhaps. Perhaps not,”

I understand him. We all are capable of falling for someone, yearning for that emotion that keeps our hearts racing – to have a reason to come back to when all of this is over.

I took out a picture from my pocket beneath my coat and stared at it, longing for the woman whose smile is eternalized in a still frame. Her auburn hair and icy blue eyes was engraved within my mind for eternity. I love you Veronica.

 

 

Hours passed as the night comes for us and the sun sets. There were only the flickering stars in the black skies above us and yet, despite its beauty, I could not help but shake the feeling of lingering dread.

As I walked across the trenches, I overheard the voice of a few men discussing in the war room. One of them is Captain Lasky’s, one of the few commanding officers of the regiment. Judging by the tone of his words, I am assured that he is furious.

“Major, are you insane? If we launch a counter attack against a force double our numbers we would be in the bloody meat grinder!” the captain said.

“Captain Samuel Lasky, the Imperials are probably celebrating their victory after their assault - ,” said the Major. I could not recognize that voice but I can tell that he revels in the thrill of battle – such a sentiment that all of us do not share.

“And risk a few more thousand lives? Tell me Major, do you have any idea how many they are? Have you even fought in the front lines? I have checked your files and those reports? They don’t add up,” Captain’s voice changes, it’s as if he has uncovered something.

“I outrank you, Captain. Now listen to my - !”

“I won’t be taking orders from someone who claimed have fought at the Battle of Dhunwall. I was there Major and I do not see you wield a rifle, or command us into battle like Major Gallean did,”

Silence followed. Then I hear the sound of objects hitting the floor as if someone has tossed something aside in anger. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Captain,” he threatened but I don’t think his words are enough to make him budge even in the slightest.

I hear footsteps as the ‘Major’ stormed out of the room in anger. I guess the Captain touched a nerve.

I entered the war room, to see the captain staring at the map with aerial photographs of the surrounding areas. Small wooden pieces scattered upon it, marking the positions of the enemy – and ours.

A clenched fist rose to my chest and the snap of my boots alerted the captain to my presence. “Alexander Schofield, sir,”

He merely scoffed and gestured me closer. “Drop the formalities Alex,”

“How should I? You were my teacher once in high school and now you’re commanding a regiment,” I walked closer to his side, my arms crossed as I looked over the maps laid out across the table.

“Now we’re comrades in arms,” he responded. “Tell me, how bad our situation is?” he questioned.

The red wooden pieces were the enemy and I can see them already at our doorstep. Just a few dozen meters away but I do not know why they aren’t attacking just yet. “Very bad, how are we supposed to deal with this?”

“Nothing,” he merely replied.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s nothing we can do here, Alex. Our forces are practically surrounded and outnumbered, tanks and infantry, not to mention several heavy units and flamers,” Lasky recalled.

Just the mention of the flame troopers sends shivers down my spine. They are the true heralds of hell, belching flame that melts through flesh and accompanied by the metal machines of war behind them. I saw friends fell by their ferocity, their lethality in the fields.

“Captain, we can hold our positions,” I said. I know we can, we are the sons of Tenebrine.

“No we can’t. They’ll storm at us and we can do nothing but to retreat,” he said, his voice seemed heavy – as if he knows the end will come for him. “And when that happens, we follow the abandoned mineshaft to a nearby village. That’s our quickest route of escape,”

“So that’s it? We just give up?”

Captain Lasky sighed as he turned to me. “We retreat so we can fight another day. I don’t want to lose another few hundred men because of stupid and idiotic orders from morons like Major Dain did. That’s an order,”

I saw his eyes and I know of those feelings engrained deep within – the feeling of wanting to return home, the fear of dying on the field. Then I remembered Veronica’s face flashed through my mind, I remembered the promise I made to her. Come back to me.

Then I hear voices, of men screaming and roaring just outside the room. What is happening? But before I can hear them clearly, the sight of a grenade rolled into our room caught my attention.

My heart jumped, I feel I swallowed my throat at the sight of it. It sizzled as fumes of smoke emerged from it. I wanted to move away but my legs won’t budge. Move you idiot! MOVE! I screamed at myself but my hand reached for the pistol holstered at my thigh.

I felt a sudden push thrusted towards me as I fell backwards with my back thuds against the wall. I can hear the captain’s voice, screaming, “GRENADE!”

I raised my arms to shield myself from the blast that would undoubtedly come after. My eyes closed as I turned my head away. The blast did come but muffled and I feel splashes of liquid on my clothes and hand.

As my eyes opened, I saw a body lie lifelessly before me. His body is where the grenade is, with bits and pieces of his charred flesh scattered around and the smell of burnt meat pierced my lungs in deep, horrid stench.

“Captain?” I spoke the first that came to mind. I knew that it was him that lay dead before me. But it happens so quick and ended in mere seconds.

I turned his lifeless body around and grit through my teeth not to vomit at the sight of his corpse. Yet my heart dropped, knowing that I have lost someone that I have known and someone capable enough of leading this army.

Knowing that I have no time to waste, I took off his dog tags where his name is etched carefully onto a small piece of metal and his golden ring. As my hands searched his corpse for valuables, I find a peace of neatly folded parchment kept in the pocket of his coat with the words written; “To my dear Beatrice,”

I pulled myself up to stand and slid the letter into my own pocket. With a clenched fist lifted to my heart, I have a duty to uphold. “By your heart you shall be remembered in eternal glory,”

The Imperials are attacking once more; the sound of their men and gunshots from outside is more than evident that they will finish their mission no matter what. Will I survive?

I don’t know.

 

 

Captain Marcus Hawken III,
13^th Tenebrine “Skullburner” Regiment,
Wolfarstohl Base, Vorkun,
Delta Line,
10^th September 2341

Four o’clock in the morning. The sun will soon rise to take the night. Lyana is probably by asleep by now at home and so are the rest of the kids. Yet, I am here. Fully awake, a rifle in hand and a heavy bag full of necessary supplies for the trip to the Gauscian Hills.

Five hundred men stood ready, waiting for me. God, I can never get used to being a captain.

My leather coat is new, a captain’s badge stitched to my right arm where a Lieutenant’s sigil might be. As I approached the five hundred soldiers from the regiment, I can see their faces as clearly as day. Some were exhausted; others just woke up from a deep slumber.

“Have you got your gas masks on yourselves?” asked Percival, now my second-in-command of the small battalion of soldiers.

“Yes sir,” they answered. Some nodded in response. But they are eager as they always are – the blood of our Tenebrine ancestor surged through our veins and we ought to make them proud.

“How many hours until we arrive at Gauscia?” I asked. I have my estimations. Eight or nine hours. Five, if we do not encounter any resistance. There will be undoubtedly.

“Six to seven,” Worfield replied, tightening the straps to his ammo belt around his hip. “We have to be quick. The shortest route would be through the river southwest of our position,”

“With the size of two platoons, I doubt that’d be our safest bet. The woods near the stream would be filled with Imperial forces, scouts at most. Or a tank with accompanying infantry,” Schofield says as he kept an eye on the watch around his wrist.

The forests, the river, the hills – each of them were advantageous to whichever side that controls it. Between our location and the fields lie a thick forest and a three-pronged river that splits the woods in the middle. The river would slow us down if we chose to go through that route.

“We head for St. Tunworth,” I suggested. It is a desolate and ruined village located just outside the forest. Abandoned six months prior our advance to where our position now. But there could be resistance, some small battalion slipped past our lines. Such mistakes happen.

“It’d take us two hours to reach Tunworth,” Schofield approaches. I can sense the urgency in his voice. Understandable, since we are going to reinforce the 7^th or at least what was left of it.

“We’ll take the bridge to the north and if we’re lucky, we may hope to find other battalions moving up to the front lines,” I replied. Our forces are merely infantrymen, just trucks enough to accommodate five hundred of us and whatever supplies we brought for the 7^th.

I gave the signal to my men to start the advance. The sound of Percival’s whistle as he blows rang sharply in our ears. It’s loud but it is more than enough to convey my message to the rest of the soldiers.

We head for the trucks. Boots stomped against the muddy ground in loud thunderous thuds. Our feet sank, as if the dirt tightened its grasp every time we step.

I remembered the smell of smoke and fume that came from the exhausts of the trucks as they roared to life. The soldiers hopped on while a few of them carried the crates of ammunition, food and medical supplies to haul over.

I hear the chattering of soldiers as they talked. “Put it there!” one of them said. “Be careful with that ‘ya bloody sods, those things are fragile!” barked another.

Thirty minutes later, we moved. The trucks departed in a column, leaving behind clouds of dust and smoke. They chatter and they bicker. Some had their eyes on the road and some had their hands trembling, grasping at the rifle they carried.

“You’re new here lad?” I heard one of the soldiers say to the one with the hands that shivered in fear and anxiousness.

I saw his eyes, fear in his youthful gaze. I can almost hear him gulped as the boy tried to compose himself, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. He was young, like the rest of the newly recruited soldiers. Perhaps, he is not younger than fifteen.

“Where are you from?” I asked the nervous boy. A small conversation amongst men like us would ease his thoughts. It would ease ours as well. After all, we are all afraid.

It’s just we hide our fears better than before.

“Norwick,” he answered, taking deep breaths as he calmed himself down.

“Far from home, aren’t ‘ya lad?” a soldier beside me responded to him. “Ease yourself, we are hours away from any enemy territory,”

Then, the distinctive howl of fighter planes caught our ears. Pilots from Tenebrine Sovereign Air Force were a ferocious bunch, masters of the skies in majestic machines. The sound of their engines that blazed through the heavens was symphony to our ears.

The Norwick recruit’s head jerked from side to side, understandably afraid – undoubtedly conscripted with only a week of training. I have heard the Sovereignty’s incompetent military commanders had the unsullied boys trained to aim and reload in just three days. Gone were the days where we have to trek long distances with heavy supplies on our backs.

“Don’t worry lad, that howl is one of ours. Hearing a Thunderbolt over our heads is the best you can ever ask out of this war,” another of the soldiers assured him. Good for the man. Grace shall be upon you for easing his mind.

 

 

Two hours later, we arrived at Tunworth. We set up a small communications outpost for the time being in an attempt to establish contact with the retreating troops from the Hills. Worfield operates the radio. He’s a smart lad, he always get things done.

A huge radio was set up on a wooden table, with dials and antennas to find the right frequency to communicate with our men in the 7^th. I can only hope that they are still with us – or else this journey is a waste.

Tunworth, not more than a hundred people used to live here. Heard it was a farming village before the war began, then the Imperials marched into the country and ransacked everything they got in their sights.

The barns were empty and stables devoid of anything else. Some of the soldiers walked towards the wells and refilled their water canteens before they moved on to the trucks. Six hours to go.

I heard the Thunderbolts again. Their presence fueled our morale like fire, kept us burning, kept us hoping – kept us safe. I counted four of them; a small squad of fighters is more than enough to keep us boys on the ground safe.

“7^th Regiment, this is Worfield of the Skullburners, do you copy?”

There was only static on the other side. Worfield turned the dials, clearing out the signal. He repeats his words. “Skullburners to Captain Lasky of the 7^th, do you read?”

Then I hear voices, followed by the sounds of gunfire and battle. Boots thud against the ground as they moved in groups. They are in danger.

“Lasky’s dead!” a voice shouted through the communication device. “We are being overwhelmed! The Imperial bastards pushed through our lines!”

My hand reached for the communicator in Worfield’s hand. With everything that I have heard so far, the situation for the 7^th gets worse by the second.

“Who’s in command of the remaining troops in the 7^th?” I asked. Silence follows my words like a ghost, only the sounds of battle – the hymns of war.

A foreboding minute follows the heavy breathing of the soldier behind the radio and his voice that barked orders to his men through the engulfing chaos. “I do not know who’s in command now!” the man said. “Focus your fire on those mucks!” he bellowed.

“What is your name soldier?” I asked. It was imperative to know the name of those in command of soldiers. Usually, it is to respect them for their deeds – other times, to acknowledge their achievements in times of war. But now, all I could think of is to save them.

His heavy breathing, the thunderous bellowing of every gunshot rings through the radio. “Junior Sergeant Alexander Schofield sir!” he answered.

Alexander Schofield. The boy survived the battle indeed. He’s one tough bloke just like his father. “Here are your orders Schofield, can you and the rest of the soldiers go to Tunworth?”

“It’ll take us a few hours to get there, sir!” answered the Sergeant. “But some of us probably knew the shortest route to get to Tunworth in just two hours,”

“Make it one hour, Junior Sergeant. We’ll fortify our positions and await your arrival,”

“Affirmative sir! Lads, we move to Tunworth!”

Communications were cut. Orders have been given. A long day ahead.

This ruined village, this abandoned settlement will soon be the place where we make our stand against the advancing Imperials. I never would’ve thought of having to fight the enemy again so soon.

“Sir,” Worfield’s voice cut me off from my thoughts. “Are you sure about this sir?”

“Whatever outpost they have at the Hills have been lost at this moment, Worfield. The Imperials love to overwhelm their enemies with sheer ferocity and their stupid battle cries,” I replied. God, I hate those bloody battle cries of theirs. “Relay the order to the rest of the troops; I’ll head off to tell First Lieutenant Schofield his good news,”

“Solid affirmative, sir,”

 

 

Junior Sergeant Alexander Schofield,
7^th Tenebrine “Valorheart” Regiment,
Gauscian Hill Base, Vorkun
Delta Line,
10^th September 2341

“There’s no end to the bastards!” shouted a soldier. His rifle rings at every shot he fired. The distinctive sound of its magazine ejected out tells him to crouch and reload. “We have to retreat - !” a bullet whizzed through the air, blasting his skull into chunks of flesh and bone.

His lifeless body dropped beside me as I loaded my gun. Another one died and another one to the ferryman.

Five days ago, Imperial forces launched a surprise counterattack at dawn at our foothold at the Gauscian Hills. Hundreds of them came rushing at us. I remember the sight of their black coats and pointy helms, the light of the rising sun glints off their weapons.

It was the same as it is now – only that we have lesser numbers than five days ago.

I loaded my rifle with a magazine of bullets. My hands trembled; my head is filled with the thoughts to survive – to kill the enemy, to win for the glory of Tenebrine.

“Alex!” shouted a soldier – a familiar voice amongst the thunderous chaos of the battle. “Alexander! West side has fallen! Our men are falling by the minute, we have to leave now!” bellowed fellow Lance Corporal Howard.

I shook my head as I peered over the ridge from my cover. I aimed down the sights, my grip on the rifle remained firm and my finger is on the trigger, ready to pull and unleash the might and fury of the weapon. “The line will hold!”

In the corner of my eye, I saw an Imperial soldier emerging. Their dark coats and pointed helmets made them easy targets. With a single pull of the trigger, my rifle belched flame and steel as the bullet whizzed through the field and struck the enemy in the shoulder – its impact made his body lumped backwards.

I switched my aim to another one of them, approaching so brazenly from the front. His rifle fixed with a sharp bayonet, evident with the glint of the sun against the blade.

An explosion went off nearby, kicking off mud, dirt and pebble across our area. It rains from above and obscured my vision, disrupting my perfect aim.

I pulled the trigger. The rifled roar but I hear no bodies dropped dead against the ground – only the battle cry of an enemy screaming towards me, his bayonet strikes forth for my heart.

But I was quick and grabbed it by the blade with my hand. I grit my teeth, grunted in pain and in anger. I can feel the fire within burning; the heat of battle surged through my body as I lifted my weapon and fired another round into the Imperial trooper’s head.

His death was quick; the one burst of gunshot was enough to cave in his skull through his eye socket. His motionless body slumped and fell with a heavy thud on the ground next to me.

As I lift my eyes of the corpse and towards what is before me, I saw more and more of the enemy troops advancing forth. Tanks emerged like monstrous beasts of fire and steel. The rattling of their tracks and the sound of their roaring engines heralds their arrival on the field.

We have to retreat. I told myself. We are losing grip of our position. Dozens, if not hundreds more Imperial forces would rush at us and pick us off one by one. My fingers reached the whistle that dangled by my neck and let out a sharp sound as I blew upon it.

“Fall back!” Howard bellowed to the rest of our troops. “Fall back!” he fired off several shots from his rifle before retreating with me before he puts on his own gas mask.

I put on my own mask and reached for the smoke grenade on my belt and tossed it away to give my men some cover. But the sounds of gunfire continued by the second. Their screams pierced my ears, the thunderous blasts of the grenades kicks off dirt and stained my coat and the haunting howls of Imperial war machines advancing through our devastated lines were the sounds that accompany us all.

I retreat with my men with the smoke covering our backs. Tunworth was our closest refuge. The 13^th is there – my father is there.

I picked up the pace. Huffed and puffed beneath the mask that I wore. Soon enough, I saw the Imperials lobbed small canisters of their green poisonous gas at us. But we were ready – the Valorhearts are always ready.

Between the Gauscian Hills and the forests, there is an abandoned mineshaft – long forgotten since the days of the Industrial Boom in the early 1600s. Tight spaces, claustrophobic and would slow us down significantly.

But the Valorhearts have no time to spare. Besides, we have mapped out the entire section before we were attacked by those Imperial mucks. We knew each path, knew which route to take.

“Get to the mines!” I bellowed the order to the soldiers.

Without a second thought, they rushed inside and I followed closely from behind. Several brave soldiers stood at the entryway, their guns raised towards the enemy as they attempt to buy some time for the rest of their brethren to enter.

Then I hear Howard grunted in pain, an Imperial soldier have made his mark upon the Lance Corporal. He roared as he turned, firing several shots at the man that grazed his shoulder. “Move! All of you!”

“On the double Valorhearts! On. The. Double!” I bellowed. My rank is of no concern right now. Usually, it’d be a colonel or a rank higher than that to command these brave men. But is it now the suitable time to think of such things?

It wasn’t. All it takes is a man willing enough to take the role and lead them to safety – a role that I chose to take after the captain’s demise. Now, I felt the weight of an entire world upon my shoulders.

I have the lives of men depend on me. Soldiers who wished to come back home and embrace their family, soldiers who wished to eat the food cooked by their wives and mothers, brave souls who wanted to go back to the lives that were robbed of them when the war began.

I intend to bring them home – and bring them home, I will.

“Move along Howard or you won’t be home for Sandrinolia celebrations!” my voice raised, thunderous like the lion’s roar as I tied several of my grenades together. My eyes glanced over my shoulder towards the entrance and gestured to two standing soldiers to enter the mines. “You two, ready your explosives! We’ll have to seal the entrance,”

“Aye, sir!” the two privates took out whatever explosives they have on them – grenades, bombs and the like. Without any hesitation, they’ve planted it near the entrance and ready to set them loose.

I hear the muffled voices of the enemy as they barked orders to their comrades. Their footsteps, the rattling of their equipment and their heavy breathing – I hear them. They are approaching, close to the entrance of the mine.

The Lance Corporal merely stood there at the entrance, loading his rifle. He stood there like a tree eyes towards the enemy. I hear him utter a few words in whisper – was it a prayer? I do not know, but my heart dropped as soon as I realized what he wishes to do.

“Howard!” I screamed. “Get in here! We’re blowing up the entrance!”

Our hearts thumped against our chest, finger on the detonator. It’d be wise to take a few of them with us through the rubble, bodies buried deep in dirt and stone.

He turned and looked at us by his shoulder. His mask is ripped through, grazed by a stray bullet. “I’ll stay here, lad,” he said as he coughed. He had breathed in the poisonous gas and without working protective equipment, he’d fall soon.

“Get in here Lance Corporal! We’ll get you help as soon as we - ,”

I hear them scream in Imperial language, one that I do not wish to comprehend or even cared to learn their stupid language. But I know what it meant – or at least, what I thought it would. “They are here!” said one of them in Imperial Speech.

“Go!” Howard screamed as he took off his damaged mask and brandished his combat knife. He stared death  in the eye – a brave man, a strong man, a true son of Tenebrine.

By that time, my hand twitched at the detonator. Eyes towards the entrance, covered in smoke and embers. Counted to four, inhaled. Counted to four, exhaled. I could do nothing but to leave him there – nothing but to make his sacrifice worth it.

I pushed the button.

Everything collapses.

 

 

Captain Marcus Hawken III,
13^th Tenebrine ‘Skullburner’ Regiment,
Village of St. Tunworth, Wolfarstohl, Vorkun,
Delta Line,
10^th September 2341

Eight o’clock in the morning. It has been almost two hours since we arrived at this village. The soldiers were understandably on edge; their eyes darted towards their surroundings.

Schofield received the news of his son surviving the first attack on the Hills and it certainly brightens up his mood for the day ahead. Nothing is more joyful than to know your child have pushed through a hellish period of battle. But knowing that the Imperials have launched another assault puts the man’s mind back to a state of foreboding dread.

“Your son will be fine,” I said to him. I knew the Valorhearts, they are brave warriors sworn to defend their king and country with every bit of their lives. For I know that they’ll push until the light breaks from the clouds. They’ll push until their guns rust and break – for their tenacity is as strong as steel.

Schofield leaned against the wall, breathing a heavy sigh. His shoulders relaxed, his chin raised as he gazed upon the skies. “If he dies, then it’s all on me,”

I raised my eyebrow, turning towards him. For all my time serving the Sovereignty and deployed to the front lines, I have never seen him in such a state. “Why? Because you weren’t there fighting by his side?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I don’t make the effort of stopping him from joining the military. Lydia never wanted him to be a part of this pointless damnable war,”

“If he dies, that’s not on you,” I assured him, for it’s the least I can do.

“How can you be so sure? What’d happen if Nathaniel is old enough to join the military? How would that weigh on your conscience?”

“Nothing,” I simply answered. I scrambled to find the reason why I’d say that. But then I knew. “It’s because I’m here to do my job – my duty. To fight for our country and I’ll bloody make sure that the war ends before he comes of age,”

“You said that because your son wasn’t in the war,”

His words rang true. But I shall not let things like that cloud my thoughts. Here I see that his emotions began to weigh him down. “I said that because we have a duty to uphold. Have you forgotten your oath?”

“Of course I remember! No one idiot would - ,”

“Then your son wouldn’t. Even against all odds, they will endure. They will persevere,” Such an easy thing to say there “Captain”.

 

Sand bags were carried as the troops identify advantageous positions across the deserted village. Some set up sniper position on top of a building or the clock tower, others placed barbed wires, claymores and turret nests.

I can see a long and grueling battle ahead of us. Percival have notified me of the possible plans of the Imperial troops from the Gauscian Hills.

“The 7^th Regiment will retreat from the Hills and reach Tunworth through a secret pathway they have discovered. They will navigate through the abandoned mineshaft here and make their way to us,” he said, as he points his finger on the map.

“Will our supplies be enough by then?” I asked. I pondered upon it. The numbers of the 7^th Regiment would dwindle even further as they make their rout to this village. One good thing out of it is that our supplies would last longer than anticipated.

“It will be sir,” Schofield interjected. “If the 7^th is smart enough and blockaded the entrance to the mineshaft, the Imperial troops will circle around the woods and will soon come into our vicinity at the southwestern side of Tunworth,”

“We can’t fail here,” my eyes were locked onto the map. Tunworth is just a few hours away from our main base in Wolfarstohl. “If we fail here, the Imperials would have flanked our boys in the 13^th from behind,”

“And the Delta Line will be lost,” said Farrier. Even a newcomer like him should know the brevity of the situation.

The Gauscian Hills and our base at Wolfarstohl were the ones that have put up a damning fight against the Urmanean Empire. Should two full regiments failed to defend the line, the gap in our long defensive positions across the Vorkunian Mainland would fall – the war will be lost on the Eastern Front.

I soon realized that our stand would definitely be the decisive factor for the years to come. Death is at our doorsteps. I can feel its lingering grasp over me – cold, dreadful, foreboding and silent. It whispers to me to embrace it, let the cruel fate written down by the fingers of war take my life.

Yet, I know I shall not fall. I will not fail.

Then again, writing a letter for Lyana would not be a detriment is it not? Three thousand against a force of barely a third of that size – a crushing defeat is undoubtedly, a possibility.

I took a piece of paper and pen and walked around the camps we have set up to fortify ourselves. There is no telling when the Imperials will arrive. Will it be tomorrow? Next week? Or in the next few hours? Perhaps they will loot the Gauscian Base, resupply and come here to finish off the job – or perhaps they will storm through the woods and kill us all.

I only write the things that I wanted to say to her. God, how long has it been? I counted months since my last break but it felt years – no, decades since I set my gaze upon her beauty. I yearned for her warmth once more – for the only I get was from the blazing heat of engines by the war machines or from the sun.

Yet, hers was different. I bet everyone else thought the same when they are missing their loved ones. Our hearts ache when we part. I remember her sorrowful gaze as I hopped onto the train to Camp White Cross before departing to the front lines. I recalled her anguish and now, I can feel her yearning for me to return – to come back home. She prayed to God and so do I.

In the letter, I told her of how I am faring for the last few weeks and days. I told how her of the day when I narrowly escaped death as one section of our line in the trenches were greeted with an explosive surprise by the enemy. I’m lucky to escape that with minor injuries but the others? They suffer a different fate than I do.

I told her of how tasteless the bread was, of how the baked beans she made taste better than the ones given to us in packs and cans. I told her of the story where I went out with the Ironhearts with a couple hundred men to secure a bunker and returned with less than half.

I pondered on how my son fares in these troubling times. Is he doing well in school? I’ve heard what Lyana told me of him. That was a month ago but then again, I trust young Nathaniel to be his mother’s fierce protector.

As I finished writing the letter, I folded it neatly into an envelope and slipped it into a pocket underneath my coat. I intend to have a courier boy from the Royal Messengers Association to have it sent to my wife once the inevitable battle in St. Tunworth is over.

Then I heard the thunderous roars from the men. They weren’t the battle cries, guttural and full rage – no, it was something else entirely, as if the troops cheered in joy and victory.

“The 7^th has arrived!” the men announced at the top of their lungs. “They are here!” I heard them say.

I rushed to the place where the troops are gathered and there I saw them, dressed in muddied coats and armor, their weapons held tightly in their soiled hands. They were exhausted, their energy drained from their very being.

Some of them have bandages wrapped around their heads and arms, soaked in crimson nectar. “Move along now!” barked their commanding officer, the same voice that talked with us over the radio.

“Medics! Bring the stretchers! We got wounded!” I bellowed. At an instance, the troops heed my words and carried the battered – but unbroken – soldiers of the Valorhearts.

It gladdens my heart to see them here, to see our comrades and brothers in arms to survive a bloody battle that have taken so many of our own in the span of days. But the sense of dread lingers over me – over us all.

For we knew, that the enemy is close by. We just don’t know when and how many of them will emerge from the ridge lines.

 

 

Junior Sergeant Alexander Schofield,
7^th Tenebrine “Valorhearts” Regiment,
Village of St. Tunworth, Wolfarstohl, Vorkun,
Delta Line,
10^th Septemmber 2341

“Two hundred of us were left,” I answered to Captain Marcus. “Almost eight hundred men died in that assault and I’m lucky enough to survive this far,”

“It is by God’s grace you survived the attack, Alexander!” my father interjected. He is understandably relieved to see me breathing, battered but not broken. “Thank God you are still breathing,”

Of course I am, father. I told myself. I’ve seen my friends died by an explosion, shrapnel to the neck or the back of the head, a stray bullet through the eye socket, missing the lower half of the body or pierced through the chest with a bayonet.

I should’ve been the one buried in the mud. They have their lives laid before them but it is by the cruel hands of fate that took them away. They died knowing that the promises of glory were nothing but empty words.

I stayed silent in the medical tent. A white bandaged wrapped around my wrists. The smell of medicine fills the air – a good departure from the scent of mud and smoke and gunpowder. Now all I hear are the assuring voices of physicians tending to the wounded, some are screaming in pain and a few were restrained to the bed by a several soldiers while their limbs were cut off with a bladed tool.

“You will return home as heroes,” they said. “Women will come for your hand in marriage like flocks of birds to food!” But are those things really true? All I’ve seen is hell on our blessed lands. We thought we could return home unscathed, untouched and with only a couple of scars. But we were wrong.

There is nothing to be proud of.

“They will come,” I said. My voice so dry, thirsty and I need something to drink. But my mind only has thoughts on the battle ahead. “In a few hours they will come,”

“How much longer will that be?” my father asks.

“Almost a thousand men, a few tanks and some others,” I recalled. Those numbers are mere estimations, maybe a hundred more or a hundred less. But then again, with the numbers we have here, I won’t know how we’ll against them.

Captain Marcus took a look on his watch. There is an air of power emanating from him, silent but strength exudes from his very being. After all, he and father have fought side by side at Gorffin. All the stories father told me about him seemed to be closer to fact than exaggeration.

But his eyes were tired, empty and almost hopeless of the war. He has seen hell, the sight of a field of corpses is nothing new to him but I’m impressed of his seemingly unbroken spirit.

I saw the same thing in my father’s eyes. There is fire within their gaze. I think I know what it is – for they have something to fight for – a loved one perhaps? Or the unyielding hope for a return to their old lives?

I wouldn’t know. I am just 20 years old, celebrated with a hail of bullets in the trenches a month ago. There are more soldiers like me, some are younger and most of us joined because of the promise of glory – but we get anything but.

“Six hours minimum,” Captain Marcus says after he glances over his watch. “Then the Imperials would arrive sometime soon,”

He gave a pat on my father’s shoulder; his eyes peered to me and nodded. It’s as if he knows what comes next. As he left the tent, I turned to meet my father’s eyes that stared coldly into my own.

I can feel his relieved heart, his fear and anger. I tried to speak. Yet, no words left my mouth. “I failed you father,” those are the only words I can think of. I’m just a boy in his eyes, failing to even secure a victory for our dear Sovereignty in a battle against the Imperial bastards. How am I supposed to compare to my father’s achievements in Gorffin? I bloody can’t. I never will.

“No you didn’t,” his raspy voice reached my ears. Solemn but an air of true fatherhood is still present in the way he speaks. “You survived, that is all I care,”

“But I failed to hold the line haven’t I? Like you and Captain Marcus at Gorffin,” I replied. I questioned myself of how father had the tenacity and resilience of a true Tenebrine, holding the line at all costs. While me and the other troops break and falter, our lines shattered at the enemy’s advance.

Perhaps we aren’t qualified to be called as the Children of Tenebrine after all.

“You served the cause, Alexander. You uphold the oath you swore to obey. You survived the battle,” he said to me with a hand on my shoulders. His eyes locked deep in mine as I saw the fires of an old warrior flickering within.

But I took my gaze away for I could not bring myself to think of my failures in the Hills. “But the others, my friends – they have all died because of our - ,”

“I have lost friends too Alexander. Some have wives, children. Some were unmarried, others engaged. Some were younger than you; I see fear in their eyes as they lie dying on the bed. They call out the name of their mothers, their fathers,” he interrupted me. Those words of his were full of pain and remorse, unmatched by my own. Heavy words, it’s as if his entire career weighed the world upon his shoulders. “And…there is nothing I can do, nothing in my power to save them all,”

 

 

Captain Marcus Hawken III,
13^th Tenebrine “Skullburner” Regiment,
Village of St. Tunworth, Wolfarstohl, Vorkun,
Delta Line,
10^th September 2341

I looked at my wrist-watch and see the time ticks two o’clock in the afternoon. The rest of the troops were anxious – understandably so, as they have been briefed of the situation we are facing.

Lance Corporal Alexander estimates that over two thousand troops of the Imperial army will be our enemy today – as it has always been for the past five years. I determined that if we fall today, then the Delta Defensive Line – that stretches from the coast of the Rhoyde down to the borders of the Zahareem Sultanate – will fail and the advancing Urmanean Empire will push through and conquer everything we sought to defend with our lives.

To be honest, I feel overwhelmed. Sure, our battle at the Gorfinn River have a greater number of enemies than what we are about to face here but the thought of us failing to secure ourselves a victory in this battle would mean that we have failed our country.

Looking at our situation, there’s a possibility that we shall be killed in the midst of battle. After all, this isn’t the Battle of the Gorfinn River where there’s a stream of water slowing down the advance of the enemy.

With all the injured and wounded men of the 7^th, I sent them to our forward operations base a few kilometers away from St. Tunworth. Better to save those who can’t fight for a battle in the future, better to save them from the hell they have witnessed.

I have also sent a small group of men back to Wolfarstohl Base as messengers. They have to know of our situation here and if we fail, they shall prepare themselves to continue our fight – to stand for Tenebrine.

I find the boy from Norwick. The fear is quite evident in his eyes – perhaps, he is forced to join the war against his wishes. Perhaps he never wanted to pick up a gun and kill, that is something that I can see. But if he can’t do what the other troops can’t, then I have something else for him to do.

“You there, the boy from Norwick,” I called out to him, with a few neatly folded parchments held in my hand.

He startled as he jerked himself up from the seat and saluted. His back straightened and his boots snapped. At least he knows how to stand properly. “Sir!” he responded.

“You can’t kill someone is it not?” I asked him.

His expression changed slightly, he gulped and deeply inhaled. The Norwick boy shook his head and in his eyes, I can see tinges of pain. “N-no sir, I can’t,”

“You’re a bloody wuss!” shouted a soldier that passes by. “Then go back home you - ,”

“Are you the Norwick boy here?” I raised my voice at them. It is undoubtedly rude to interrupt a conversation between two men, ruder to act like children in a world where men die young because of the slightest of mistakes. But one good thing is that they fell silent as they continued on to do their work.

“I joined the military because I was told to sir. My parents – they all cared about the glory and the promise of their son becoming a hero,” the young soldier said. “They know that I’m not a fighter like my brother but they - ,”

“I know, boy. That’s why I have different task for you,” my hand reached out, handing over the letters I’ve had in my grasp. “I need you to send these letters to the general in Wolfarstohl,”

He flipped through the letters. One is to notify us of our inevitable confrontation with the Imperial forces, the other an order for our men in the artillery line and finally, “What about this one sir? The one that says, ‘To: Lyana Morn’?”

I fear the worst that could happen. My father used to tell me that I should expect the best and be prepared for what’s not. So I did what he said – to be ready for whatever’s going to happen. “Give them to the couriers from the Royal Messengers in the base as well; tell them it’s from me,”

The Norwick recruit nodded. For a second there, I thought I see his eyes livened up. Perhaps I have given him a chance to serve – even without the need to take a life, to be in the midst of chaos. “Very well sir. I shall depart at once,”

For once, he did not question why I would use a letter instead of using the radio like most of recruits would. I thought that the Imperials would be tapping into our communications and know of our plans – of my plans to stand against the might of the Urmanean Empire. I would not let that happen.

But for now, I shall prepare myself for our final glory.

 

 

It has been an hour since the evacuation was completed. The wounded men of the 7^th and its escorting party have reached the base not far from here. Such a thing gladdens me.

We have sent scouts to look out for the enemy. We waited hours and hours until the boys returned. The longer we wait, the more ready we are for the enemy. Either the enemy spotted them and killed them, or they have not seen the Imperials just yet. It has been hours and the night has arrived.

Then the sound of a sizzling screech that rose through the sky alerted the troops in Tunworth as its bright white light illuminates the sky – a flare from our scouts. I hear the voices of our troops, screaming, “The enemy is here! Few hundred meters out!”

I took a few deep breaths; my fingers stopped shaking as I pulled the lever to chamber a round in my rifle. “Skullburners, to your positions!” I bellowed to my men, like a roar from the draconic beasts told in the stories of old.

We have traps set up for them. Mines well planted beneath the road, squads of men hiding in the barns and carefully hidden dugout trenches that were hastily made in just a few hours. I’m pretty sure that all of us felt our hearts thumped against our chests.

The MG nests and mortar stations were manned, snipers up high in the clock and water towers watched through their scopes towards the direction of the enemy. The few hundred riflemen we have remained silent; gone were the hours where they joked and bickered with one another – it’s time to fight. Time to die.

I find the Ironhearts lined up behind a broken part of the wall that surrounds the village. Schofield loaded up his submachinegun, Worfield brushed off the side of his rifle from the dirt while Farrier fixed his bayonet to his weapon. While Percival is up with one of the snipers on top of a building, ready to strike.

“Are you lads sure you wanted to stay and fight?” I asked them as I pulled a flare gun and loaded it with a canister colored in red paint. “I mean you lads could just be back at Wolfarstohl base and sip some tea,”

Farrier scoffed, “Sir, we can’t let you have all the fame and glory once this is all over isn’t it?”

“You’re all about that glory and things Farrier. Just like my son,” Schofield responded.

I raised an eyebrow as I turned to Schofield. “He’s staying? I thought he has left with the rest of the 7^th eight hours ago?”

“He has a score to settle. Besides, he just wants to die with his old man,”

I turned to look at Percival’s position. He wasn’t too far from where I stand so I could clearly see his hand gestures, signaling to us on the ground that the enemy is coming.

It is then when I hear the sound of growling engines and the voices of soldiers uttered through barked orders to the rest of their troops. They are coming – and we are ready.

I turned towards the mortar crew and waved my hands to signal the attack. For we must not waste time, as any seconds that passed would prolong the inevitable – so we must make haste and see death in the eye.

There, I hear the haunting sounds of mortar shells howling as they descend from the sky, followed by a thunderous boom as they land on the enemy infantry. Dirt, stone and pebbles were kicked up high, chunks and pieces of flesh scattered about. What follows next, is the symphony of war.

I hear gunshots; the sound of our weapons belched and breathed fire with every pull of the trigger. The Ironhearts fought valiantly and ferociously, so does with the rest of the two platoons stationed here and the remainder of the 7^th.

I often asked myself, ‘Why do I fight?’

It seemed like every time I put my foot into a battle such as this, that I find the answer to the question I posed myself. With the pull of the trigger on my rifle that I aimed towards the head of a soldier, I find my heart raced in fear, in anger, in the fire that burnt through our bodies and in the fury of our forefathers.

Was it because of all the glory promised to us? Perhaps in another war, such thing may exist. But in the grand scheme of war, we were nothing but pawns to those that sit at the top – they give the orders, we follow. They told us where to shoot and we oblige.

I guess the one that’s true about the war is that it is hell incarnate. I saw the bodies of my comrades that fought so brazenly fell to the storm of bullets from the enemy, a storm of steel, a rain of fire and hurricane of death.

Yet, here we are. Here I am.

As I fought alongside the Ironheart squad, I saw green smoke emerged from small canisters. Poisonous gas from the Imperials – such dirty tactics, such honor less fools – but is there honor in the face of war? I highly doubt it.

“Put on your gas masks!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I put on mine, tightening the straps on the back of my head. We are all prepared for such things as we shall not let such devices be the ones to send us to the afterlife.

As the gas grows thicker by the second, our visibility is obscured until we could only see the indistinguishable silhouettes of soldiers fighting one another in the night. The fighting, the thunderous blows – the songs of war have yet to cease.

“Ironhearts, get to cover!” I told to my squad – for they shall know better to find adequate protection against an enemy nearly thrice the size of our forces.

But as I move, I lose track of my comrades even if they are right next to me. They blend into the heavy color of the poisonous gas and every step they took, rendered them to become shadows, silhouettes before completely disappearing into the darkness.

I could not see what was before me or behind me. I could hear myself taking deep breaths through the mask and it gave me a sense of unease that settled within my gut. Through the corner of my eye, I see a man whose shadows formed from the thick colors of the gas.

Yet, he did not stop – but to continue to charge at me, screaming and roaring in a language I could not comprehend. As he was close enough, I whipped out my knife that was strapped to my thigh under my coat and swiped it across in a wide arc.

The Imperial soldier missed his kill and with this, I took the chance of rushing him like a bull. I leapt forward and pushed him to the ground with a resounding thud. I drove my knife deep into his abdomen where he screamed in pain through the mask on his face. His arms flailing about as he desperately reaches for my mask to yank it off me.

But I shall not waver and in a flurry of rage and guided by the instincts to survive, I jerked my knife away from his abdomen and raised it up. I let out a roar as I drive the blade in my hand down to his eye, where I could feel the tip of my weapon slid through his skull. There, his arms flopped to the sides.

When in war, our minds think of one thing and one thing only – to survive, to live and to tell the story to those that came after us. But it is by our instincts that humanity has yet to meet extinction – with it, our ferocity.

I have killed many before and it is sickening, it does not please me to take the life of another man that is following orders just like me. But it is what it is – a fight to survive on a grander scale.

I hear many more soldiers rushing for me and as I turned around, I saw two Imperial troopers rushed at me with their bayonets. Fools. I thought to myself. Just shoot me you bloody idiots.

I pulled myself up to stand and faced them, ready to meet my end. Yet, the sight of bullets and the sound of rattling gunfire bring the sense of joy in my ears as the two soldiers were gunned down by a storm of steel.

“Captain Marcus!” Alexander called out as he approaches me; his hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder. “We are losing control of this area, sir! We are falling back to the main square!”

His voice snapped me back into attention. It was then when I realized I was surrounded by fallen men, most of which wore our uniforms. “Alright, we fall back. Now,”

Alexander, that tough bastard. Just like his father. As I followed him through the buildings, I saw the rest of the Imperial forces marching in unison as they chased us into the main square.

I sprinted towards the square where the others were. As I looked around, I estimated that only three hundred of us were left after all that fighting. I have lost track of time during all the chaos. How long has it been since it began? An hour, two?

I looked at my wrist watch but the only thing I saw was its cracked glass and broken hands. I must’ve damaged it when I killed the Imperial soldier with my knife. It was a gift from my wife on our anniversary and I hope she won’t be furious about this. Guess it’s time to go to the clockmaker’s shop when this is over.

The soldiers manned the machine guns have truly unleashed hell upon the advancing troops, slowing their advance into the main square. Our anti-tank weapons have done well, disabling their war machines are not an easy task indeed.

“How many of them are left, do you reckon?” I asked Alexander.

“Less than a thousand at least,” he responded as he ducked behind cover and loaded his gun.

“How many hours has it been?”

The Lance Corporal crouched and took his aim at the enemy, “Three hours. Felt like six isn’t it?”

I nodded. “It always felt that way, Lance Corporal,”

I wondered how many of their soldiers have slew in three hours. Even in times like these, I tend to forget how much of the enemy forces are we facing – how many have they sent to die with us here. All I think is to survive and fight.

“They’re popping smoke!” shouted Percival as he tossed aside his sniper rifle and pulled out a shotgun.

“Steady lads!” Schofield kept one of his hands on his spiked mace, dangling by his hip. The man usually favors a more menacing melee weapon than I do – one that he could swing with all his might.

Then they roared as they emerged from the smoke. As they charged so bravely, our guns answered their attack with fury – unleashing the judgment of our forefathers through bullets and steel.

They dropped, one by one but they do not stop – it’s as if they do not fear, do not feel a sense of dread in their hearts, driven by a blind sense of devotion to their cause. To that, we shall kindly response with our tenacity.

We fired everything we have, every round fired and spat towards the advancing enemy. Every mortar shell we got has been sent to their troops, turning their bodies into nothing but limbs and chunks if charred flesh. This is what they get for marching into our homeland.

But they never end. They kept coming until the magazines and clips in our guns ran dry.

An Imperial soldier breached through our lines and charged at us with his bayonet, aiming towards Lieutenant Schofield. Without a second to waste, he swung his spiked mace and with his strength, crushed through the skull of the trooper. “Hold the bloody line!”

“By King and Country, we fought valorously,” I uttered the words of the Oath of the Fallen beneath my breath. My eyes darted from one charging soldier to the next, brazenly attacking us with their spirits becoming their guiding strength. I applaud them for such courage – but they shall not pass.

“By the grace of God, we carry the hope of the sun,” I pulled myself up to stand and picked up a war axe from a nearby corpse. My legs now lifted me forward; my heart beats steadily and my grip upon my weapons firm.

I pulled out the flare gun that I have prepared hours earlier and aimed for the sky. For the night is clear and the moon shines brightly like a torch. “By our hearts, we shall be remembered in eternal glory,” I pulled the trigger and a sharp sizzling sound can be heard as a red flare rose to the heavens.

“To the last man!” Farrier shouted as he leapt from his cover, pulling a short shovel as he charged at the enemy, slamming the broadside by the skull of an enemy trooper.

Worfield and Percival followed suit. The rest did the same.

We push and the enemy did the same. I let my fury loose in these last few minutes that I possibly have. For my blade shall serve the country in its finest moments – for my blade shall defend what I have back home.

I swung the axe I held in hand, cleaved through their bodies like a lion’s jaw chomping through flesh. I swiped it across and its sharp edge dug into the throat of another Imperial soldier, blood and fat now trickled down the handle.

They have us outnumbered. “It’s been an honor serving with you Marcus!” Schofield shouted with his bloodied mace smashing through the skulls of the enemy who are unfortunate enough to get caught in his wrath. His roars; as desperate as they sound, were full of laughter in the face of death. “Come at me!”

Farrier finds himself in a struggle pinned down by two Imperials as they rushed at him. “Come one, come all!” He bellowed as he shoved a live grenade towards one their mouths. Seconds later, he have truly gone out in a thunderous blaze.

Worfield charged with his bayonet, stabbing through an enemy’s chest as he twist his rifle upwards.  But as he drive down his weapon to finish the kill, the young soldier’s body was riddled with holes in a hail of bullets from a nearby hostile.

“Worfield!” shouted Percival as he swung a large brick towards the Imperial trooper’s head and crushed his skull. He lifted above his head and dealt the final blow before he was engulfed in fire that melts away at his skin, his flesh and his clothes by a flamer unit.

Alexander fought ferociously; driving his combat knife and wielding his sidearm as if his life depends on it – well, it does. He fared well, a true fighter like his own father. Now I understand why Schofield says he is one tough bastard.

I took deep breaths and regained my composure. My enemies are ahead and my axe, firmly grasp within my hand. It is slippery from all the blood and fat, sure but I shall keep my mind clear.

Another one of the Imperials charged at me. I stepped side out of his way and swung my axe downwards to the back of his neck, cleaving it through in a clean swipe. I turned around and saw a second enemy.

But I was too slow to react and moved too sloppily, as the bayonet pierced through my shoulder and fell on my back against the hard ground. Both of us struggled on the ground, attempting to regain control.

My hand reached for his face pushed the man aside with all the strength I could muster from this exhausted body of mine. I quickly pulled myself up and cleaved the man’s chest open with a wide downward swing of the axe.

Deep breathe in, let it out. I can now feel the fatigue in my muscles, slightly shaking as my body wants to rest – but I know I mustn’t. It was then when I heard Lyana’s voice in the back of my head, “Gaze to the skies,” she once told me. “I will watch the moon and pray for your return,”

I looked up and cast a tired smile on my lips. I saw the crescent moon hanging in the heavens. But my eyes caught the sight of a fiery streak descending from the skies above – multiple of them in fact.

The artillery boys at Wolfarstohl have received my message, good job Norwick boy. Now our work here is done.

I stood up and closed my eyes, with my head raised towards the endless void. Fire rains upon us as the buildings crumble at every shell exploding with such powerful might.

Thunderous blasts, as if the heavens have struck their drums. The enemy screams in fear as they scrambled for safety but I know there won’t be any – for the only safe place for them is down below.

Lyana, take care. I won’t be home this December.

 

EPILOGUE
8AM – Two weeks after the Battle of St. Tunworth

Lyana Morn-Hawken,
Edelheim Railway Station,
Edelheim City, Tenebrine Mainland,
27^th September 2341

I have received his letter. My heart dropped at every word he had written. I could not find myself believing in the things he said. Please, don’t do this me.

As I arrived at the railway station with Nathaniel, I saw a crowd of people standing around as they wait anxiously for the train to come. Each of us are fearful, hoping that our loved ones have returned safely from the pointless war across the seas. Please be there.

Every night I prayed that he’d survive, every night I prayed that I won’t be alone – that our son would grow up without a father. Heed our prayers, please.

“Mommy, when is dad coming home?” Nathaniel asks. He is just barely 7 years old, a smart child, a bright child – one that looks up to his father. He has Marcus’ red fiery eyes and my gold streak hair; he inherits a part of us both.

Yet, my heart dropped as he says that. I could not imagine the days where he grow up without him. Imagining the days of his graduation where Marcus was not there, missing his son’s most precious and valuable moments.

Then the sound of howling engines from afar caught my attention – so does the others. They stood closer to the line but far enough to ensure their safety. I understand their feelings; for they are mine as well.

I held Nathaniel’s hand tighter as the train approaches. I can feel my heart thumped, racing against my chest. Even with the cold winds of the approaching winter, sweat trickled down my neck. Please. Please. Please.

The sound of the train tracks screeched as it comes to a halt made the crowd’s eyes darted from one cart to the other. I watched the soldiers as they arrived, looking at them one by one as they sat by the windows.

But there are no signs of my dear Marcus.

The doors flung open and the troops walked out from the cars. Some of the men rushed towards the embrace of their families and lovers, while others frantically searched for their sons, fathers and husbands as they wait.

My fingers brushed the golden ring I wore, my desire, my hope and my prayers to see him alive grows ever stronger by the second. I began to feel the cracks in my heart as some of the people nearby broke down in tears as the soldiers comfort them, telling their families of their loss.

Will I be like them? Will I weep for you, my love? I hope not.

“Where’s daddy?” Nathaniel asked.

“He’ll be here, Nate. He will,” I answered.

I feel I could not find him. So I grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and walked alongside the walkways, my eyes glued to the train as more and more soldiers poured out of the cars and into the warmth of their beloved.

All around me are grieving men and women, families who cheered and cried tears of joy. I saw couples touched their lips with their arms wrapped around themselves, I saw soldiers limped without a leg or half of their face wrapped in bandages.

I saw how terrible their injuries are and my heart cracked even more. The thought of my husband dying with such terrible wounds haunts me, such thoughts that I could not bear at the moment.

For I can only hope of him being alive; to see him before my eyes.

The train hissed once more as it prepares to depart. My heart raced and I essentially dragged Nathaniel wherever I go, desperate to find Marcus amidst these soldiers.

“Marcus!” I called out in desperation. If he hadn’t sent the letter, if he hadn’t said his goodbyes through a paper with inked handwriting, I would not be this fearful, this distraught for the loss of my love. “Marcus where are you?”

The train doors closed and the conductor signaled the operator to move on. It mere minutes, this long machine moved once more to God knows where.

The crowd subsides as they went home with their loved ones, I find myself amidst a seemingly empty place with groups of people still searching for those they hoped to be here.

“He’s gone, he is truly gone,” I mumbled, as tears trickled down my cheeks. But I mustn’t cry. I must be strong for Nathaniel; for he does not understand of this cruel world; for he knows little of the war against the Empire.

The air is heavy, a lump in my throat, tears streamed like a river. All my hope seemed to have lost in the wind.

I turned around and walked away, wiping off the tears with a tissue paper. But as I lifted my gaze from the floor, I saw a man with a recognizable stature.

He stood there, looking around as he limped with a crutch on one side. I recognize that auburn hair even though his head is wrapped in white bandages. As he turned and our eyes meet, it is unmistakably him.

“Daddy!” Nathaniel cheered as he lets go of my hand and rushes towards his father.

I approached him, teary eyed as I finally laid my sights upon him. He looks so broken, an eye covered with an eyepatch, a leg replaced with crude prosthetic and a missing arm. But it is him, in the flesh.

“You idiot,” I finally got the words out of my mouth. A part of me is angry for his words written in the letter but a part of me is glad that he lives, miraculously. “Don’t do that again,”

He scoffed, “I’m home,”