Tale of The Broken Sword

Chapter Nine : Battle of Esmerelda - The Execution

27th June, AD 1656

Southern Cordon, Esmerelda

By the time Krom had knew, something at the back of his head tells that his time for action had come. Perhaps he would unconsciously feel the growing vibrations in the earth from the threads of the Grenadiers’ ATCs. It might be his silent sixth sense he’d developed in all those experiences in countless battles that preceded to this one.

Or maybe he was sick and tired of waiting.

“Get up!” He had to bellow to make himself heard over the nearly constant roar from the artillery guns spitting fire and raining fiery deaths upon the land beyond the trench. “On your feet! Come on, Move it!”

Everent and Heimman stood straight up and began a second-last weapons check. As they did, those nearest to them followed suit, and then those next to them, and on down the line. Heimman flashes all his teeth in a boyish grin, and then pulled the lever of his rifle, instantly loading the next round of bullets into the chamber.

“On your feet, you bastards! Those Grenadiers aren’t gonna wait for you!” Krom hollered. Now that the word has passed down the line, he’d hoped for the best to come out of each and every one of them.

Standing alongside the rest of the unit, each of them perched on top of the flimsy ladder or another makeshift stool. Everent stared out into the fields of the no-man’s land.

Despite the reigning chaos happening overhead, though, Everent saw nothing stirring on the ground beneath him. Part of him, he realized, had wished that the ATC’s would be waiting for him and the rest of his unit to pop out of the trenches edge and give them a proper welcome.

“Check your weapons!” Krom readied his rifle and slammed it on the edge of the trench’s lip. Though wet and dusty, in the inside of it, it was clean and ready and soon his cool, long barrel would soon run hot.

The Empire’s ATC’s got into a certain distance before stopping on its tracks, its design, Everent thought, were a bit similar to the ones of the Aurelian models –slanted ramp on the front, armoured sides, and a flat surface on its engine compartment. Two of its machine guns aimed at the direction of the trench, laying down covering fire as it unloads its cargo.

A mob of the Empire’s troops stormed down the ramp lowered from the front of the ATC, giving a clear view of what’s inside in the armoured vehicle. In the midst of all the madness around him, it struck Krom how much the Grenadiers almost looked like one of his own men. He gave it a thought, and perhaps the many months of staying both in here and back at the Line gave him the impression that everyone, regardless of friend or foe, looked very much the same thing.

But in the end, her thought, that they’re all soldier fighting for those many miles back at home that’d never touch or even seen a gun. Or the soldiers, they had more things in common compared to their superiors. Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter anymore in this situation as the only thing that’s in Krom’s mind was to kill or be killed.

The lieutenant did not gave the order to open fire, instead, he waited and waiting for the best time for the men alongside him to get a clear view or their targets, lest they will be firing blanks at the fog and let their unseen enemies to fire back at them. Everent was nervous, he knew. But the sergeant could not express it out vocally, surely not in this kind of situation; it might cost him his life instead.

“Easy, men. Easy....” The lieutenant tried to soothe out his own men’s jangling nerves. Fearing that one of them might crack and started shooting before he’d even gave the order to.

“Wait for it...”

The trenches fell silent as both of the factions face each other across a piece of land that will soon be their graveyard. The artillery stops firing at their side, so did the Empire’s and the only thing that echoes across the battlefield was only the winds.

The Grenadiers came in fast and low, charging straight for them. For a moment, Heimman thought they didn’t seem human, but that had to have been the trick of the light. Or maybe it was his past experiences as a soldier kicking in, dehumanizing his foes so they’d be easier to kill. Krom felt the same too, but he didn’t notice it until the very last second.

Well, now it’s the time for him to give in the best of it.

“Fire!” Krom shouted.

The line erupted in a tense fusillade, and the Empire’s soldier responded in kind. This was a war, alright, the keen moment of battle they’d been waiting for so long, but couldn’t have the wits to fight on it. Everent couldn’t help feeling relieved that it’s finally here.

Men feel on both sides of the line, most of them without a word. Those who’d weren’t got killed instantly by the flying bullets that struck them were often went into a shock or, if they’re not veterans, knocked out. A few, though, maintained their consciousness and cried out in pain and bellowed in horror.

Those were the worst, Krom felt. The dead voices, the lieutenant could ignore it. But the ones, still alive but dying, distracted him and the rest. And in the middle of the battlefield, a golden rule that stands above the rest etched into the lieutenant’s mind: don’t get distracted. That sort of thing like distractions would get more of his own killed by enemy fire.

Both Heimman and Everent kept on firing and, at the same time, blocking out all the screams of their friends and fellow soldiers alongside them. Letting the bullets blast into the thick fog in front of them was the only thing that the sergeant and the private could do.

Then Heimman spotted something.

“Incoming!” The private yelled.

Krom peered into the foggy darkness in front of them to see if he could pick out what alarmed Heimman so much. He couldn’t see anything but bullets, blood and screaming soldiers. But then, at the far edge of the seen fog, a lone large soldier carrying a long barrel aimed at the direction of the trench. Moments later, the barrel lets off a blast and the rocket flew into the trench, instantly killing and burning every soldier caught in its range.

“Is that an Eisenfaust?” Everent questioned loudly, referring to the Empire’s rocket launchers. “Well, fuck it then!”

“Yeah, they have anti-infantry rockets. Heimman, Kellar, aim for those Faust-soldiers. Make sure they don’t pull that damn trigger!” Krom ordered.

Krom’s troops vaulted themselves back up their ladders and levelled their rifle over the field of battle like veterans. And then everything broke down. Krom was unable to communicate with his soldiers by voice or by hand signals. He had seemingly lost all control of his own men. He had fears that the other end of the cordon might have already fallen to Empires soldiers and he had no plans for flanking defences. They had to rely on their training or instinct, or both. In some cases, it seemed that they fell back on neither.

One soldier began firing blind into the thinning mist, shooting at the invisible Grenadiers who had to be out there somewhere. Most of the others hoping that their compatriots would have seen something, joined in, chattering away at the smoke of short bursts from their rifles.

Whether the Aurelian soldiers had hit onto something, Krom couldn’t tell. He held his gun still but ready, conserving what’s left of his ammunition and waiting for a grenadier to reveal himself. He saw Everent and Heimman doing the same thing, slapping the soldier next and nearest to them back to their senses.

Then gunfire erupted from the depths of the fog. Some of the lieutenant’s troops fell onto the ground, their heads been blown off. Some were torn to shreds by the bullets and the rest screamed for a few moments before the bullets find their way into their heads.

The remaining Aurelian troops returned fire at their unseen assailants. Bullet spattered Everent with mud as he blasted his gun away into the retreating swirls of fog. Somewhere in the middle of it all, he heard the roaring engines of the ATC waiting for any signs of their own men retreating just in case that their first wave of attacks failed to breach into the defensive lines amid the constant crack sounds of rifles and machine gun emplacements.

Finally, the ATC’s machine guns fell silent as its troops closed on the trench, the gunner unwilling to tear his own men apart in order to get the ones hiding in the mud. For Everent and the rest of his men, the battle had just only begun.