War without Justification

by LitD

The Imperial invasion of Gallia had no Justification. It was no threat, it had declared its nuetrality and the soldiers crossing the border knew they were taking part in a vile act. Never-the-less they do their duty.

1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyria Chronicles or have any part in the franchise. Would be sweet if I did though...

For some reason I got the urge to write a VC fanfic, and not a simple one, oh no. I had to go and write an Imperial Centric fanfic, a bunch of faceless villians who enjoy gunning down unarmed civies, force an ethnic group into slave labour... until you get your hands on "Behind her Blue Flame" that is.

For the record I am not sticking directly to cannon, there will be HMGs, squad MG's, mortars are light tubes carried by several men etc. And am I the only person who saw Ghirlandaio and wondered why those steep, but scalable, flanks are deviode of fortifications? If you go through the trouble of reading the fic than If I could ask for the trouble of writing a few words with some helpful comments? Cheers.

It sounded like a storm threatening to break. A steady rumbling that never slackened and never grew nearer. Two kilometres from their target artillerymen stripped to the waist and sweating despite the chill of the twilight hours, kept the rumbling going as they heaved large calibre rounds and slammed them into the breach using the palms of their hands. Another crewman would shove the case in and ram it home with a rode before a third would shut the breach. The spotter would make sure the gun was aligned properly before giving the signal at which the crewmen would jump back before a string was pulled that discharged the powder sending the round towards the target while the barrel shot back. Even before the barrel slid back into place the crewmen jumped to the gun, one opening the breach and, ignoring the hot air gushing out, threw the hot case away in a swift moment so that he barely registered the warmth through his gloves as others stood by with a fresh round ready to load.

Closer to the target thousands of infantrymen moved in lines towards their positions. A few were talking, most were silent and almost all of them were visibly pale in the dim light. Here and there a man would suddenly spasm and throw up, one suddenly broke ranks rushed a short distance away before dropping his pants and voiding his bowels, nobody said anything about it. Junior officers led them to their initial positions where sergeants made sure their equipment was done properly as officers went through the orders.

- 'Don't bunch up! Five men is a target you can't miss, one is a waste of bullets! Don't stop to fire, that's the job of the MG's and marksmen! If you can't fire on the go than just keep going forward! If someone is wounded leave them to the medics! Anybody trying to sneak their way out won't even get court-martialled, the Military Police will shoot you on the spot!'

The officer paused and looked at his watch, pulled out his revolver and checked it was loaded before shouting out,

- 'Fix! Bayonets!'

As the order was shouted down the line bayonets jumped out of scabbards and were fixed on, some men having to try several times before they got it. Only one private failed on his third attempt and both the bayonet and rifle fell from his hands as they began to shake and he reeled back as if punched.

- 'I'm not going. I can't go! I'm going to die here! I know it!'

- 'Pull yourself together Klaus!'

His left hand neighbour hissed as he grabbed the man by the shoulder straps. The right hand neighbour knelt, picked up the dropped weapons and deftly slid the bayonet into place before holding it out towards the man. When Klaus didn't take it he shoved the weapon into the owners hands.

- 'I can't go! Let go of me Jan! You have to!'

Klaus did not calm down and continued to protest, pulling against his neighbours' grips. Others began to turn at the commotion and a murmur began to rise. The man addressed as Jan tightened his grip and shook Klaus.

- 'Get a grip of yourself!'

Unsurprisingly that didn't work and Klaus kept on pulling till the other grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him close.

- 'Calm down! You heard the Lieutenant; the MP's shoot those that don't go forward! With us you've got a chance.'

Though it didn't look like Klaus fully registered he allowed himself to be pulled back into ranks as a sergeant walked by.

- 'What's going on here, Bezeredy?'

- 'Sorry sir. Bit of horseplay.'

The sergeant nodded and walked a short distance away before stopping and standing still, Jan swore. The distant rumble of artillery pounding the Citadel of Ghirlandaio continued even as the captain looked at his watch and barked out the order.

- 'Company! Forward!'

The order passed along the line and a thousand men moved followed by the second thousand, the mass moving was enough to convince even those hesitant to move with it. Weighed down by packs, spare ammunition and five grenades a head the men slowly began moving their way till they reached what had been the outer defences until the armoured assault under Maximilian had forced the Gallians to surrender them. Now the men there stood and offered salutes as the assault group made their way to the mountains flanking the fortress and all the time the guns pounded the next line of defences. They men began filing through the gaps in the barbed wire created by mortar rounds; dropping wooden planks on the tangled to make other routes. Slowly the men began moving up the steep hills as all the while the artillery pounded the positions ahead of them.

After a half hour the infantry were half way up the slope, and the artillery stopped. Another minute passed as the Imperial soldiers made their way over the difficult terrain before the Galians opened fire. The men closest to the bunkers simply collapsed as fountains of blood erupted from their chests. One man ducked, slipped and fell ten meters before landing with a sickening crack. Others ducked as the rounds tore the earth around them, ricocheting off or shattering rocks that turned into shrapnel.

- 'Forward! Forward damn you!'

- 'Faulkner! Get that mortar set up!'

Men rose from their cover and covered some ground before dropping to the ground only to rise and run again. Men fell, some to get up with a curse others to lie screaming or in silence. The mortar team set their weapon and loosed a round.

- 'Short Fifty!'

- 'Forward!'

- 'MEDIC!'

- 'Gustlik! Give us covering fire!'

A MG crew dropped, set up their weapon and loosed a few bursts towards the direction from where the tracer rounds were coming from. The mortar team loaded another round and it detonated, the Gallian gunfire falling silent for a moment.

- 'Hit! Give them another Faulk….'

The shout was cut off as the officers' helmet crumpled inwards under the bullets impact, blood gushing from below its rim; the binoculars fell from lifeless fingers. Several men sprinted a short distance before throwing themselves behind a larger boulder, one doing too late and a bullet tore through his throat, throwing the man on his back where he kicked the loose earth as he died struggling for breath.

Klaus, Jan, Bezeredy and the sergeant ducked as rifle rounds tore up the area around them, Jan falling back with a cry as a sliver of rock hit him. The sergeant was next to him in a moment and deftly removed the razor like shard and tossed it aside.

- 'Rakowski!'

- 'Here!'

The sergeant answered even as more fire was poured on them.

- 'Got a marksmen there?'

- 'Yes sir!'

- 'Get the bastard to clear the way!'

- 'He's gonna need some cover sir!'

The lieutenant swore vulgarly and tried to turn in his cover as much as possible without exposing himself.

- 'Fredrik!'

- 'Here!'

- 'Get your MG to cover the …'

A sudden hiss was all the warning the men got before the earth around was torn up in explosions as mortar rounds fell amongst them, a rain of earth, rocks and body parts falling on the men. The lieutenant kneeled coughing, momentarily forgetting about the withering hail of fire as he struggled to breath. Unclasping his faceplate he released the earth trapped underneath it and inhaled deeply before shouting,

- 'Fredrik!'

- 'He's dead!'

The lieutenant swore, coughed and swore again.

- 'Faulkner!'

- 'Here!'

- 'Drop a few shells on that bunker!'

Relatively safe unless someone was looking for them the mortar crew soon got exact information about the target and dropped a round that fell short. Informed so by the corporal that had replaced their previous spotter they corrected and laid down a wall of fire and shrapnel that lessened the Gallian fire. Immediately the brown uniformed imperials broke cover and moved forward before sliding into cover as the mortar used up its ammo (the man carrying the spare crate laying screaming in agony a dozen meters below them) and the Gallians rose from their cover to keep up the fire, only during that short time the marksmen had successfully ran forward, knelt and zeroed in on the bunker. Nothing betrayed Bezeredy's status as a marksman. Not his rifle, not his uniform nor a scope on said rifle. He looked through the iron sights at the grey shape that gripped the MG inside the bunker, breathed out and pulled the trigger. The gunners jaw vanished in a fountain of blood and bone as the man was thrown back. The loader stared in shock, the gunners' blood staining his face before a second round tore through his neck and sent him to the bunkers floor where he died a second later.

The silencing of the machine gun was enough to encourage the battered Imperials to charge, a roar growing slowly as they picked up speed. Rifles fired at them and here and there a man went down with a cry. A hum heralded another mortar round that sent up a fountain of earth and sent several men to the afterlife. It was too little. The imperials swarmed over the trench and in a savage flurry of bayonets, close ranged shots and grenades the cleared them of defenders. Those that survived the assault made a run for the second line of defences higher up, Imperial soldiers crowded to shoot at the backs of the men that had, until recently fired at them without fear of retribution.

- 'Stop firing! Cease fire!'

Sergeant Rakowski's voice sounded over the noise and slowly the firing died out.

- 'Reload! Loot the corpses! Get their grenades and ammo! I see any bastard lugging around gold watches or some other shit I'll cut his balls off!'

Grenades went behind belts, into boots and into bread bags, ammunition went into pockets as well as a number of watches, gold rings and teeth as well as money, despite the sergeants threat no sane soldier would miss the chance to loot.

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- 'Foundry! This is guardhouse ten! Imperials have overrun guardhouses 12, 14, 8 and 4! Foundry! Foundry come in!'

The communications officer cranked the field phone as he tried to raise command for what seemed the hundredth time in the last half hour. Captain Muller of the 37th "Princess Hedwig's" Light Infantry double-checked that his watch was still running. Despite years of experience combat still shocked him with how much seemed to happen in so little time. Slipping more ammunition into his pockets Muller told the communications officer to keep trying as he walked out of the communications bunker. The thick concrete walls cut off noise from the outside but made those inside even louder and the twin machine guns drowned out any noise and the captain authentically couldn't hear what the pale faced lieutenant was shouting until he was out in the trenches.

- 'We should pull back!'

- 'We're Gallian Soldiers Aderwolf! We don't give the enemy an inch of ground they haven't paid for.'

- 'Sir there is simply too many of them! If we don't fall back the enemy will overrun …'

A faint hum was all the warning the men got before a mortar round detonated near them. Muller stood, shacking earth from himself and turned to reprimand the lieutenant for defeatism in front of his subordinates but decided not to bother, there was no point in wasting words on someone drowning in their own blood after shrapnel tore their chest open.

- 'Range!'

- '200!'

The spotter replied. Along the trench men knelt on the fire step and the captain joined them.

- 'Let them get to 100 meters before opening fire. Take it from someone who has already dealt with imps boys, despite what they look like they panic easy and lose their bearings when running into opposition.'

- '150!'

- 'Hit them hard and they break!'

- '100 meters!'

- 'Fire!'

As one the men of the 37th stood released their fire into the approaching imperials.

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The volley sent the Imperials to the ground, most soon returning fire, some kicking the earth as they bled.

- 'Get up! Forward!'

Discipline made them follow the order, assault troopers loosing volleys from their SMG's as they went. The Gallian's replied by doubling their efforts and soon the attackers were grounded again. There was no "rise and charge" this time. Slowly the imperials began to inch their way forward.

- 'UWAAA! UWAAA! UWAAAAA!'

- 'Calm down, I'm here! You'll be alright.'

The medic was lying. The soldier had all the right to scream as he was for a mortar round had torn his leg off and blood was pouring out quickly turning the earth around it into red mud. Despite this he calmed down, the scream dying away replaced by a sob. The medic cut loose a length of wire and tied it around the stump, cutting off the blood flow. That done he removed one of several blue capsules from his bag and induced the pain killing effect of ragnite.

- 'Doc? Doc! I can't feel my leg! I don't wanna be a cripple!'

- 'You'll be alright.'

- 'It hurts.'

- 'You'll be alright.'

The wounded man fell silent making the medic pause to check if he had died. No. The mans' eyes still moved and his breathing was as steady as it could be taking into account the situation. As the medic finished the treatment the wounded suddenly spoke,

- 'Hey doc, are we winning?'

The medic looked up as he slid his gear back into its bag. The brown line of imperial infantry had risen again and was rushing the next line of defences. Taking into account the amount of fire poured into them relatively few were falling. A flash of flame, followed by a trail of smoke arced towards one of the bunkers before turning into a ball of flame again, sending a fountain of concrete and earth into the air.

- 'We're pushing them back.'

- 'Good.'

- 'You'll be fine kid. Soon as those lazy ass stretchers get here we'll get you to the hospital were they'll patch you up properly. The general will show up and pin you a medal for bravery before sending you to a nice centre back in the Empire. I'll tell you a little secret… STRECHERS!'

The medic paused and waved over the stretcher-bearers before turning his attention back to the wounded.

- 'The nurses there will act high and mighty but give them a Mark and they'll give you a handjob. Five gets you a blowjob. I can't confirm it but I heard some will even go all out for the right price.'

- 'Khe! That's good to kno…'

The chest suddenly erupted in a small fountain of blood and the soldier never got the chance to finish his sentence. The medic looked in silence for a second at the mortal wound before shouting towards the Galian lines.

- 'Mother Fuckers! Give us a chance out here! Psychotic whore sons!'

The stretcher-bearers took one look at the corpse before shrugging and jogging off to the next casualty waiting to be evacuated. The medic cursed and put away his gear and going on to the next wounded.

- 'Medic!'

- 'I'm here!'

He said as he pulled out a wade of gauze and applied it to the wound.

- 'You'll be alright.'

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Philosophers, psychologists, poets and authors spend seas of ink and forests of paper trying to discover what goes through a mans mind in situations of danger. As one of the oldest soldiers amongst the throng Sergeant Rakowski would say, not much. There was the idle curiosity as to how someone can remain unscathed when the air shimmers with bullets and shrapnel. Or why does running those ten meters seem to take so long and so short at the same time. Why in heavens name should you tumble into a trench and shove nearly a foot of steel into the gut of a man you don't know and never would have met if it weren't for politicians in a faraway place deciding that military force was the best course of action. Why the gut? That Rakowski could tell you easily.

There were no bones on the gut, nothing to stop the tempered steel bayonet going deep into flesh. At the same time gut wounds were guaranteed to send the enemy out of action. Of course you had to remember to twist the blade so that the flesh and guts wouldn't suck it in. Stab. Twist. Pull. And repeat. God knows how many dummies were torn to shreds as recruits worldwide were drilled through the action till the blisters on their hands bled. A veteran of the Great War (or as some historians were already calling it, "The First Europa War") he could also tell you that real combat didn't give you time to execute it properly but there was a lot of room for improvising.

A Gallian came at Rakowski and the sergeant barely deflected the bayonet. Instead the attacker slammed into the other man and pushed him against the concrete wall of the trench. The two stood, trying to overpower the other till, a second later, fate intervened. Fate took the form of an Imperial soldier who brought his shovel down on the Gallians helmeted head. The shovel, most treasured of all a soldiers kit. With it you dig the trench that allows you to hide from incoming fire. As all shovels had the same dimensions you could use it as a ruler. The ribbed edge served as a decent saw and you could also use the flat, metal surface as a small frying pan. To all that it also possessed another use, once you sharpened the edge you got a blade and the shovel itself effectively became an axe.

It was that usage that the Imperial demonstrated on the Gallian, the helmet caving inwards under the blow and blood gushing from beneath it. The Gallian stumbled and fell before the second blow hit him in the neck, sending the head rolling away. The executioner calmly put the tool away and began to go through the dead mans pockets. Rakowski frowned as he straightened. This section was quiet but gunfire and detonations were sounding close by. The sergeant had already filled his lungs to bellow an order when the shovel-wielder held out a map folder with a "Sir?" Rakowski took the leather case and went through the contents, maps, lists of numbers and names as well as other papers. The sergeant knelt and pulled the corpse off its chest and found the mans rank, a captain no less. Satisfied the corpse was dropped and the case shoved into the breadbag, now practically devoid of grenades. Realizing this Rakowski liberated a grenade from the corpse and bellowed out the interrupted order.

- 'Liberate their grenades and ammo! Reload and reform!'

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The Gallian screamed as the bayonet stabbed through his chest. Klaus attempted to pull his weapon free but the blade had gotten stuck between the ribs and wouldn't move. With a curse the Imperial kicked the dying Gallian and, with a sickening scraping of steel on bone more felt than heard, the bayonet came free. The mans panic had now passed replaced with anger, anger at himself for having panicked, anger at the Gallians for causing it and anger at his squad mates that they saw it, with the anger came a surge of strength that made him sprint the last meters to the trench, miraculously avoiding the thousands of metal fragments flying through the air as he dug his bayonet into the shocked face of a Gallian. He now turned sharply, deftly knocking aside a bayonet and shifted his grip to stab with his own weapon drawing a cry of pain. This time he remembered to go for the gut and twist the blade before pulling it out. The Pale faced Gallian stumbled back against the trench wall, coughed and slid down with a look of disbelief on his face.

All along the trench men stabbed, hacked, strangled, punched, bit and shot each other as the Imperial assault hit the Gallian fortifications. The lieutenant fell in and shot a Gallian twice before pushing on. A Gallian was repeatedly stabbing an Imperial with his dagger and never saw the pistol round that tore through his skull. Movement made the lieutenant turn sharply but it was unnecessary, it was merely an Imperial bayoneting a Gallian, a Gallian who was trying to surrender. The officer turned away and continued moving down the trench, men joining him as he went. Reaching a corner he remembered that he should reload and stopped, waving others to move on before unlocking the revolver, discarding the empty shells and pushing in new ones before locking it and moving on. He caught up with the others just as the assault ran into another snag. The first men fell without warning, those immediately behind them tripping over the bodies with curses. Those behind them collapsed as their chest plates shattered under impact. The trench turned into a straight length at which end was a bunker, with a gun slit, which had a machinegun set up.

As one the remaining Imperials fell, piling up the bodies of the dead to form some sort of protection from the dozens of rounds that single gun was releasing. The officer and another imperial unleashed all the rounds in their guns in an attempt to shift the machine gunner. The incoming bullets were coming in as thick as ever and the two ducked to reload.

- 'Sniper up!'

The lieutenant called out. One of the pinned Imperials crawled forward till he was level with the officer.

- 'Sir?'

The lieutenant looked at the man and frowned; there was nothing that betrayed the man to be a sniper, not the uniform nor the weapon.

- 'Sniper?'

- 'Marksman.'

The officer nodded and jerked his thumb in the MG's general position.

- 'See if you could blow the inbred's face off.'

- 'Yes sir.'

Bezeredy slid forward and set his rifle up between the bodies that served to protect them from the incoming fire. The constant flash heralding another round of bullets coming towards the Imperials made it impossible to see the man operating it. Still Bezeredy set the iron sights on the flash, took into account the distance and put it slightly lower, exhaled and pulled the trigger. The sudden silence seemed surreal and it took everyone a critical second to realize what it meant.

- 'Charge!'

The Imperials vaulted over the corpse barricade and rushed the bunker. The first to reach it slammed against the cement wall and shoved a grenade through the gun slit and was rewarded with cries of panic before it detonated. Another trooper shoved his SMG in and emptied his magazine. At the same time an engineer was busy setting a charge on the steel door. A break for cover before it detonated and suddenly the way in was clear. A grenade was thrown in through the shattered entrance and after its dull detonation the Imperials rushed in, ready to eliminate any survivors.

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A rectangle of pure, blindingly bright, light. Jan burst out of the bunker into the sunlight, intolerably bright through the thick smoke. The ground around erupted in mini geysers as small arms fire hit in and around the communications trench. One Imperial cried out and fell, the man behind jumping over him even as the wounded tried to pull himself out of the way, a pool of blood grew around him. A trench, less than ten meters from the one they were running in a line of grey helmets poured continuous fire at the line of brown coated imperials. Jan lifted his SMG above the trench and emptied his magazine. Another trooper threw a grenade, the combined firepower sent the Gallians down for a second, a second the Imperials used to line up at the trench wall and line the iron sites at the opposing trench, the Gallians were greeted by a hail of fire when they rose. For a few seconds the two lines fired at each other, ducking into the trench only to stand again to loose a few more shots. A stalemate, one that would be laughable were it not for the fact that every so often a man would fall back with a cry of pain until, suddenly a grey uniformed figure of a Gallian stood up with his hands high. The ground around him erupted as a torrent of bullets hit the area miraculously none hit him. He cringed and winced but stayed standing, shouting out "I surrender, don't shoot" as if it were a spell or a prayer. Quicker than it seemed a corporal realized the fact and gave the order to cease-fire, slowly the remaining Gallians in the trench stood with their hands above their heads.

- 'Out of the fucking trench Gallians!'

Slowly, nervously, the Gallians did as told and, equally nervous but much quicker the Imperials left their trench and approached their enemy, weapons aimed. Jan walked up and pulled a grenade from behind one of the Gallians belt. Others likewise disarmed the Gallians, some going so far as to ferret out valuables. If the prisoners wanted to object it was cut short when one was shot. Jan found a pack of cigarettes and helped himself to one before shoving the pack back into "his" prisoners' chest pocket. The corporal organized it so the lightly wounded watched the prisoners as the others reloaded and readied to move on. Jan pulled away his faceplate and lit the cigarette, it was a fancy one and the smoke tasted better than most he had had, Jan regretted taking only one. Just as he made up his mind to help himself to more when one of the imperials fell with a cry. The rest instinctively ducked and sprinted to the trench, Jan and another grabbing the wounded and dragging him with them as he screamed and kicked the earth.

The Gallians cringed, their hands on their heads fearful of retribution. A medic rushed up and began to dress the wound. Bezeredy had produced a mirror and was looking over the trench and could see only one place from where the shot could have come from.

- Lieutenant! The towers!'

The officer took the mirror, looked and agreed with the man. Especially when something whistled past his hand and shattered the trench's concrete wall opposite.

- 'Can you hit him?'

- 'I can, if I knew where he was… bastard already knows where we are and is waiting for someone to pop up to look.'

The lieutenant bit back a curse, looked around before calling out,

- 'Kurt! Engel! Zoltan!'

- 'Sir!'

- 'Sir!'

The lieutenant frowned as the third lancer failed to respond.

- 'Can you hit that tower?'

- 'Ofcourse.'

- 'Affirmitive!'

- 'Than prepare to do so! All fire on the tower in three!'

Men slammed fresh mags into their weapons and lined up ready.

- 'THREE!'

Every man stood and began to fire and the tower seemed to shake from the hail of fire hitting it till to trails of smoke heralded the lance rounds hitting it, internal charges detonating driving the warheads deeper into the wall so it sent a shower of metal and concrete inside killing and wounding those unfortunate enough to be in the area.

- 'Forward!'

The Imperials broke cover and sprinted across the open ground. Machine guns hidden within bunkers opened fire on them and several men stumbled and fell. Bezeredy knelt, lined up his sights and fired, a machine gun fell silent. A lance round tore into another bunker, silencing another. A Shocktrooper slammed against the wall next to a gun slit and shoved the muzzle of his weapon in. Suppressed gas forced the napalm inside the large canister on his back out where it ignited and lit up the bunkers interior so the trooper saw the fear on the bunkers occupants' faces before the flames consumed them. Jan ran around the bunker to its rear and a number of grey uniformed men looked up in surprise before he opened fire on them, the 9mm rounds tearing through them quite effectively at such short range. Others joined him and soon the communication trench was filled with pistol and rifle rounds tearing through the defenders.

- 'Cease-fire! CEASE FIRING!'

Slowly the shots died out as men realized that there were no more targets. The trench was liberally painted with blood and here and there a Gallian twitched or called out in pain. Jan reloaded, sliding the empty magazine into his left thigh pocket.

- 'Check the trench, make sure the bastards didn't leave anything for us.'

Jan confirmed and jumped in, blood splashing round his boots.

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Klaus walked slowly through the dead and dying, stopping occasionally to stab someone who didn't look fully dead or to investigate something that might be an explosive device. The way was slow, almost surreally so compared to the maddened rush to get here. Finally it was done, before them were no more defences only the Citadel of Ghirlandaio proper.

- 'Well, that's our job done. Now its up to the second wave to clear the locals.'

Jan walked up to the engineer; his faceplate dangling from its straps as the assault trooper was smoking. Klaus grunted as he moved to make room for the men of the second wave who were filing past.

- 'Guys! It true you're assault being led by Bles in person?'

- 'Looks so, she came up with us anyway.'

- 'Not everyday you see a bloody general at the front.'

Jan commented as the men of the second wave filed past. After they had he slammed a hand on Klaus' shoulder and leaned on his friend.

- 'And you said you wouldn't live through today.'

Klaus turned to give a vulgar reply when his feet felt as if they kicked away from underneath him and he fell to the ground. Jan eyes widened in shock as he saw the other mans helmet cave in before he fell with a heavy thud.

- 'Klaus! Klaus!'

- 'Sniper!'

A flurry of shots followed as men fired on the spot from where the shot fell. Bezeredy slid into the trench, looked at his friend and summed up his feelings shortly.

- 'Oh god.'

- 'Medic!'

Jan didn't want to do it but steeled himself and removed Klaus' helmet. He looked at what was underneath, looked at Bezeredy and both men began to laugh. The medic ran up looked at the engineer and walked away muttering something vulgar.

- 'My head… what are you assholes laughing about?'

Klaus demanded as he sat up. It took a while but Bezeredy finally replied.

- 'The Gallian gave you a hair cut!'

Klaus lifted his hand to his where his head hurt and cursed, there was an unmistakable line of baldness in his hair from where the snipers bullet had run past his skull after penetrating his helmet.

- 'The bastard… shut up guys!'

Others having witnessed the mans miraculous survival also broke out laughing and Klaus couldn't help but join in. After all this was a good day by any standards.