"SHOCK AND AWE" Pt. 1 - Short Story From The Tenebrine War

 Father and son stationed at Generohd - one a member of the Shock Division and the other, a soldier of the Hellchargers Regiment. But when Major Kyle orders a frontal assault against the Imperial forces through No Man's Land, Senior Sergeant Arthur Ryan lets go of his son Roland Abram to do his duty to king and country.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: "Shock & Awe," will be released in two parts to avoid myself from burning out and procrastinating on writing the same story for a long time. Next part will be up as soon as possible as I wanted to focus on a few other stories before writing another part of this particular one. In the meantime, enjoy.

Shock and Awe I.

Senior Sergeant Arthur Ryan,
12^th Tenebrine Shock Division,
Generohd, Southern Grecca,
Delta Line, Army Group South,
30^th December 2341

Generohd – a vast plain of mud and dirt. The stench from the rotting corpses of both men and horses were unpleasant to us all, but nothing is much worse than the anticipation of the enemy attacking you.

My name is Arthur Ryan and I shall die on Generohd, for that I am certain.

Our days in the trenches were nothing short of the ordinary. By the early hours of dawn, soldiers jolted to their feet and fixed their bayonets as the peeked through the parapets of the main firing line. As the clock ticks the seventh hour, the men in the artillery lets loose shells upon shells of devastating power.

For months, every day has been the same. Neither we nor the Imperials on the other side of the plains gained any progress. They sent waves of brave troops against us and our commanding officers did the same – wasting lives, destroying the hopes of men that have prayed day and night for this atrocity to end.

Curse them all. I thought I’d be home for Sandrinolia but those idiotic commanders thought better to prolong the battle and wait for the enemy’s supplies to run out. Such a war for attrition is a concept that many of us in the trenches would love to hate.

I question my purpose as a trooper of the Shock Division, what use would we be when we are stuck in these dug out trenches of nothing but monotonous activities and the constant threat of battle that lingers in our minds?

Today alone, they have sent a couple hundred men to charge at the enemy’s trenches in broad daylight. Such fools, I tell you. But if it wasn’t for my son’s entry into the army, I wouldn’t be so disinterested in the orders made by the higher ups.

The Sovereignty has become so desperate; drafting boys between the ages of 16 to 20 became the norm for the last few years. Robbing them of a life they have planned decades ahead – getting into a prestigious educational institute, getting a job, buy a house and having a family. Now they have nothing to fight for other than home – a home that won’t exist if they fail to carry out as they’re told.

I took my seat at the support lines, far from the main firing areas where soldiers would be concentrated. Here, I can see men yawning, sleeping, and gambling with whatever they have to keep themselves entertained. I can only be thankful that the condition in the trenches got better as the years passed for I recalled countless men had their legs sawed off without painkillers because of trench foot disease.

Life in the front lines is all about the strength of the mind.

I took a swig out of my canteen as I finished up my bowl of mushroom stew. The warm sensation that ran down my throat and into my belly is such a rare occasion these days as food supplies ran dry, rations gets lower and lower by the weeks as they pass and the troops here have to resort to something else to eat – even the scouring rats in our tunnels.

“I heard that the Major is planning another offensive against the ba’sats on the other side,” said a dark skinned man that sat beside me. He wore the standard infantry regimental uniform, a dark green coat tied by the waist with a leather belt and a badge of their regiment stitched to the left sleeve that numbered ‘15’.

The men from the Foreign Corps. I reminded myself. The Corps were a bunch of soldiers from Tenebrine’s colonies across the globe, paid handsomely and promised with great rewards should they fight for the county – if they survive that is.

“What did you hear this time D’jak? Every time Major Kyle has a plan, it always ended up with piles of fresh corpses on No Man’s Land,” said another man. His skin is paler, brown strands of hair flow out from the steel helmet that he wore. “I wished Captain Garrick stayed instead of being stationed elsewhere again. The bloke’s a master tactician and the one that have gotten us this far into Generohd,”

“Then would you follow Major Kyle’s orders if it meant charging head first into hell?” a familiar voice spoke up beside me. As I turned to face him, I saw a hand reached out holding another bowl of mushroom stew. “Took one for you father,” my son mumbled.

I cast a grin on this old face of mine as he sat down on a spot next to me as D’jak moved aside. “But I’ve had my share, Roland,” I said but my hand simply took the bowl. Even the body knows how rare it is to eat hot food, especially in this cold winter. Only God knows how long we’ll be able to eat stuff like this again before we start catching rats for the next few weeks.

“You still have to be ready father. Besides, your shock trooper squad maybe ordered to advance into the front lines any moment. Who knows when it will be,” he said as he took a spoonful of that hot stew and into his mouth.

I nodded. “But we are stuck here like the rest of you people. My squad has done nothing but to wait for an order to charge alongside you and your infantry brothers,”

“Heh, as if that’s not the norm these days. Sitting around…”

“Screwing around…”

“Like a bunch of idiots,” we both said at the same time. I let out a small laugh and a grin on my face. It is times like these I sought to treasure, little moments of quiet and peace amidst the hours of chaos that would soon ensue.

“Have you written to your mother?” I asked my son, wondering if Laura kept praying for us in the fields. She is undoubtedly worried for both her king and prince were sent to a war without an end in sight.

“I have,” he replied as he swallowed the stew. “I’ll have it sent to the Royal Messengers in a bit,”

“Alright, do tell her that we miss her,” I mumbled. I looked up to the skies above and see nothing but its pristine colors. It feels so surreal even if I have gazed upon the heavens many times, contrasted by the muted and grim colors on the ground – shades of black, grey and brown with a tinge of red from the blood and white from the dust.

I prayed that we shall return home.

 

 

Lieutenant Liam “Leo” Lynx,
12^th Tenebrine Shock Division,
Generohd, Southern Grecca,
Delta Line, Army Group South,
30^th December 2341

The war room is dark, its walls were nothing but dirt held up by stiff wood and sandbags to keep it from collapsing. Candles and lanterns were the only things that lights up the entire place – that and the bright daylight from the entrance door.

Major Kyle and several other men stood around a long rectangular wooden table, all dressed in their uniforms – their formal clothing. Pretty sure they are not expecting to die soon like the cowards they are. If that is the case, then they are not worthy of the dark green coat and the stars on their badges.

“We will have heavy infantry units laying down suppressive fire upon the enemy and the rest will storm through No Man’s Land towards their trenches,” said one of the officers there. People call him Colonel Scar for the battle mark that is visible on the left side of his face where fire had once licked.

“A full frontal assault?” I questioned the audacity of this plan. “Is this another one of your insane ideas to take the enemy’s base Major? Have you even considered the lives that we have lost to your ridiculous strategies?”

“Yes, lieutenant. Did I stutter? I have made my plans clear is it not?” He said, calmly. “Artillery and mortar teams shall soften up the opposing force before we can proceed with our assault by tomorrow morning,”

“Understood,” the other officers answered simply.

“Thousands will die! How much longer will you think we can get another few thousand men to recuperate our losses? Days? Weeks?” I snapped. We have an entire regiment stationed in Generohd and smaller platoons from the Shock Division. “We cannot afford to lose these - ,”

“Lieutenant!” the Major raised his voice that boomed within the walls of this cramped space. “We are nothing but cogs in a machine; insignificant, replaceable and disposable. This war has told us that. Nothing but tools to keep moving forward,”

“But these are - ,”

“I will not repeat myself, lieutenant. You are only here to lead your platoon of shock troopers, not to bicker with us,” Major Kyle then turned to his officer. “Relay the order to the rest of the men; let their commanding officers do the briefing,”

My fists clenched. His words hits us like a storm. We are not tools, we are not parts in a broken machine – we are human. If I could punch him in the face, I could. I can whip out my gun and blast his brains, let it scatter on the wall behind him. But doing so would jeopardize this entire army – and get me court martialed.

 

 

Private First Class Roland Abram,
23^rd Tenebrine “Hellchargers” Regiment,
Generohd, Southern Grecca,
Delta Line,
31^st December 2341

We have received our orders – and it is not a pleasant one. To charge at the front lines of the other side of the plains is indeed terrifying and one that I must endure. Drill sergeants would scream at me if I were in training, but now I am in Generohd – one of the many places where men are sent to die.

I woke up early in the morning after managing to get a few hours of good sleep. I am refreshed but not entirely – as I knew that I shall be heading straight to hell in the next couple hours.

Bayonets sharpened, clips loaded into my rifle and the straps on my boots were tightened firmly. I often ask myself, “Why do I join this bloody war?”

There is no simple answer. Some of us wanted all the glory – the only they shall find is the truth that the heroics are mere lies, some of us were told to – by their families, teachers or perhaps friends, some of us wanted to join because of their loved ones – for the desire to fight is stronger with a reason. For me? I do not know.

As I walk down the trenches along with the rest of the infantrymen as they waited along the main firing line, I saw my father rushed for me. I can see in his eyes that he is worried, not wanting me to participate in the charge against the enemy’s trenches.

“I’ll be on the second wave,” I told my father. I shall follow the men before me into death, father.

“Turn around, Roland. You cannot climb up those parapets and head into the battlefield! It’s a suicide mission!” he said. If anyone knows what a suicide mission is, it is him – and the rest of the Shock Trooper Divisions.

They have stormed castles with squads of only four to eight men at a time. They have snuck into enemy bases at night, planting bombs and leave before the explosions lit up the buildings ablaze. He has done more ‘suicide’ missions than I do.

But this is not an order I can simply refuse. “Orders are orders, father,” I told him. Even he should know what it means.

In war, obedience is everything or we shall suffer the consequences of our actions. Some cases, it would be court martial and extreme ones – but truly rare – are death.

He tried to persuade me to leave my line and my comrades. But I could not; I can’t stand around and do nothing while my brethren sacrificed their lives in the defense of our country. I will not stoop so low to the likes of those cowards in the higher ranks for I am a soldier, a warrior – a son of Tenebrine.

“It’s what I have to do,” I told him, looking my father in the eyes with my hands trembling at the grasp of my rifle. I can even hear my heart thumped so heavily against my chest.

He grits his teeth and clenched his fists. His nostrils flared as he shook his head. The look in his eyes tells me that he is angry at me for not listening to him and angry at the Major for daring to send the soldiers back into the plains where men have perished under a storm of steel.

But he took a deep breath and puts his hand on my shoulder. There is coldness in his gaze as he met mine, a solemn look yet still burns with fire within. “Then go give them hell, Roland. God protect you,”

Then he left without a word to utter. But that is more than enough. To know that he lets me go to carry out my duty to protect our homeland whatever the cost may be is more than enough.

Minutes passed, then an hour. The first wave of soldiers waited anxiously by the front lines as the haunting sound of descending artillery shells exploding at a distance made their hands tremble. One of it blasted off dirt and mud as it landed not far from our parapets.

“Steady man!” bellowed one of the lieutenants nearby. “Stand firm!” shouted another as they tried to keep their men in line – to keep them from cowering in fear with a pistol held within their grasp.

I can some of them whimpering in fear. Some are barely 18 and I know there are those that lied their age simply to get enlisted into the regiments. I questioned why they would do that – perhaps it was the promise of glory. Perhaps it wasn’t.

Then I heard it, a long sharp blow from the whistle and followed two shorter blows. The attack commences.

Machinegun fire from the support teams unleashed a storm of bullets as their comrades climbed up the parapets and charged headfirst into hell before them. “Move your asses! The enemy won’t wait for you to move to get you killed!” said another commanding officer.

I saw troops immediately blown to bits by a mortar shell, shot by an enemy sniper from a long distance – but they kept running, holding their rifles firmly in hand. Some let out a long roar – others full of rage and others full of fear. I bet some of them in the second wave have soiled their pants.

“Roland!” D’jak called out as he approached me and stood next to where I am. “Are you afraid to charge at the ba’sats?” he spoke in his thick Endregal accent.

I took a deep breath and regained my composure. I must let go of the fear, I must let it subside and let the flame burn instead. “I was. Are you?”

“Heh,” he scoffed as he grinned. “We all are, undal’go! We’re just men wearing a mask to convince ourselves that we’re fearless!” he laughed, patting my back.

I laughed as well. A bit of laughter is nice in the face of danger and death that awaits us up on the fields.

The whistles were blown again as the first wave of soldiers have charged up into the treacherous No Man’s Land. Yet, the hail of gunfire never ceases and it grows ever more violent by the hour.

“Second wave to the front!” barked one of the nearby high ranking officer, wearing his usual dark green coat with a pistol on one hand and the other gripping his whistle. “Move it!”

I walked up along with D’jak and a few other infantrymen. As we arrived in the main firing line, he hugged the walls of the parapets; others crouched and kept their rifles close to them. I hear the mumbles of fearful men, some were praying and others shivered in fear.

“We are the Hellchargers undal’go!” proclaimed D’jak. “We do not fear, we do not falter!” he spoke in a loud voice, booming thunderously against the deafening blasts of mortar shells and echoes of gunfire.

“To hell we enter! To hell we shall conquer!” the Endregalese continued. Even in the eyes of imminent death, I see his spirit burning brightly within him. Perhaps it is in Endregal nature that they see death in a different way than us. Or perhaps it is something else that drove men of the Foreign Corps forward other than their duty to their king.

“To hell we enter!” his voice booms.

“To hell we shall conquer!” I spoke our oath – our motto. The rest soon echo our words, shouting at the top of their lungs as they speak those words like a mantra. Their voices rose – almost drowning out the sounds of warfare as they roared.

Then we heard it again, the sharp whistle blows. It is our time, it is our duty.

We climbed up the ladders. Queasiness settled in my gut and I can feel the reaper’s hands grabbing around my neck, cold even in the warm weather of the southern regions of Grecca.

As I reached the top, I saw the fields before me. It was filled with shell holes, scattered bodies of men and horses, carcasses of tanks that have been there for God knows how long. Smoke rises, thick enough to conceal our movements for the first few dozen meters or so – hopefully.

“Move, move! Double time!” the sergeants bellowed as they gestured to us.

We break into a sprint; some of us unleashed our battle cries. I do not know if it would help us in these times where a storm of lead and fire descend upon us all.

I moved alongside D’jak. I carried my body forward, sprinting faster than I ever could across the land where my eyes could see upon nothing but the dead – from charred trees to rotten flesh, for it is an unpleasant sight nonetheless.

We were halfway through, by then I have seen countless bodies piled up as we get closer to the enemy base. We will make it!

I kept running as if my life depends on these pair of exhausting legs of mine. I huffed and puffed, keeping myself calm in the midst of things despite the chaotic mess around me. Eyes forward and keep your heart beating. Pray to God that you’ll live.

Then I fell headfirst into the mud. I feel my feet tripped over something as I crashed and my rifle was thrown from my grasp – apparently my grip upon it wasn’t as firm as I thought.

I looked backwards and gazed upon the corpse of a soldier. I could not recognize the colors of the uniform – it has weathered in time, faded away and mixed with mud and dirt. But I am certain that he was a soldier of Tenebrine – one who failed to serve the country in its glory. Yet, only in death may we achieve true glory.

I pulled myself up and wiped off the mud from my face, keeping my head down as I heard the bullets flew over my head. I hear more bodies fell to the ground, mowed down by machinegun fire.

Mortar shells landed to my left and right, kicking off more dirt into the air. Shell holes were the norm, craters of previous blasts from the artillery line where men who are exhausted may take cover in. But I have no time for such things – my goal is ahead of me.

I wanted to stand but I fear that I shall suffer the same fate as the men behind me. I crawled closer to the front and picked up my weapon, the mud had soiled its pristine framework but I knew it shall work like it was new.

“Roland!” I heard D’jak calling out to me as he rushes over my side and pulled me up. “Get up undal’go, we have enemies to kill!”

I admire the man’s tenacity. In his face I saw nothing but courage in the face of peril; I know that look – the look of a man with a reason to fight for. I do not dare to question his motives. Perhaps it is the same as others – duty, glory or the desire to go back home.

“D’jak!” I rose to my feet. “We have to eliminate the gunners!”

He nodded and we continued. Our legs carried us closer to the front, sprinting across muddied ground and a field of the dead. We have no time to look at the bodies of our comrades that were buried in piles of dirt; we have no time to seek for cover, no time to bicker amongst ourselves.

Our objective is ahead of us and it is close, right within the range of our rifles. I saw soldiers from our side dropping into the trenches but they shall be alone – for a good portion of our forces have been mowed down by the constant raining of artillery fire and machine guns.

“D’jak, there’s a heavy weapons team over there!” I called out to him and raised my weapon as I set my sights upon a soldier manning the machinegun that have gunned down many of our unit. I crouched and took a deep breath, aiming for the man’s head.

D’jak rushed towards them like a madman with his bayonet lifted. I count two men holed up in that area, aiming their sights on a different part of our charging force.

I feel the world around me has been silenced. Time slows down to a crawl as I took a deep breath, my finger on the wall of the trigger – ready to pull, ready to kill.

As D’jak stabbed one of the gunners through the chest with his bayonet, I fired a shot towards the other. A sharp ‘ting!’ can be heard as the bullets pierced through the Imperial trooper’s helm and turned the insides of his head into nothing but red paste.

“Pick up the heavy weapon!” I bellowed to D’jak as I jumped into the trenches.

I can hear the sound of fighting as the men approached the enemy lines. I hear them shouting at one another, others screamed in pain and agony while there are those that fought like ferocious beasts.

But I know that it won’t be long until we are outnumbered and outgunned. For we do not know how many they are within these trenches, or how many traps have they prepared for us all. It’s a question that even the Major has missed.

Soon enough, I find myself staring at the answer before me. Imperial troops rushed from their support lines to the front and began engaging our infantry with a terrifying rage that none of us could match.

There are only dozens of us arriving in the trenches and there are hundreds, if not thousands of them ready to kill us all. Will we survive this assault? Perhaps not – like any other attempt to conquer this bit of land.

Even with the machinegun D’jak have picked up and established a choke point at the corner of the trench, it wasn’t enough to hold them all back. It belched fire and steel, screaming with its fury aimed at the approaching Imperial soldiers.

They took cover and so do I. They scream in their language as they let loose upon me and D’jak. I hear the sounds of their bullets hitting the sandbags beside us or on the crates that we took shelter behind.

Bullets hit our cover as they fired so recklessly. Some were a dozen inches away from my head and others, a little too close for comfort. But we were pinned down, nowhere else to go but to stay.

“For Tenebri - !” D’jak roared as he pulled the trigger on the machinegun, feeding belts of bullets into the beast of a weapon before a rifle fire struck him in the shoulder; then another to his sides and another one between his eyes.

D’jak’s lifeless body slumped on the ground and the rest of our troops that entered the trenches soon find themselves in a desperate situation. A decision is presented to them – to surrender or to die a glorious death.

Many of whom chose to fight no matter how desperate it may be, swinging their bayonets like a sword or even a bat to hit one of the enemy troopers. Others unload whatever bullets they have left in their weapons. To them, death is the better alternative to being kept behind bars.

“For Tenebrine,” I uttered beneath my breath. I lifted my rifle once more; raised my head above the sandbags that I took cover from. I took aim at a trooper – for a group of them were firing at me. If I die, let me take one more with me.

Then I fell to the ground. I hear the sound of gunshots but I can remember the one that made its mark on me.

My vision turns black – as if death has captured me. I remember the sound of a bullet hitting the top of my head and wet liquid trickled down my face as I fell backwards. My grasp on my rifle loosens.

I remember the last thing I saw was the sky. I remember the last things I’ve heard were the voices of men and the sound of gunshots booming in the distance.

I heard the sound of my beating heart and my heavy breathing. But all on my mind was, “I have failed you,”