A splash of bright blue flared into his eyes. There was a crack, the heated splitting of bark, and he found himself shaken away from the churning mess of voices barking and wailing over the radio.
"Ah, hell. I guess they had to smarten up eventually."
"Sergeant, 12'o-"
"Yeah, yeah," came the grumbling response- as though it were routine. The piercing screech of the Sergeant's machine gun followed in abrupt and shattering fashion, eclipsing seemingly all other noise filtering through the trees with… an almost otherworldly pitch.
Dirty, fleshy hands working calloused handles of strange machines, slicing- no- shearing- sheets of raggedy cloth into uniform squares. Neatly torn cloth.
It lasted for seconds at most, that peculiar image of dusty burlap and stitched buttons being swallowed up in the abrupt silence left behind as the Sergeant ceased fire.
And then the screams came.
"Nooooooooooo-!" Off they went again, despairing cries, vows of vengeance, panicky curses flooding the comm channel like a broken record.
The repetitive nature of it was perhaps what made it easier to filter out, just… noise, like the buzzing static that ran alongside it all. The Captain and Sergeant chattered calmly over it, the Captain's tone about as casual as the Corporal had ever heard.
"How many?"
"Only three. I doubt they're gonna try that again."
"Damn it. We need to speed this up."
As though to emphasize the Captain's remark, another grenade went off in the mire of trees- this one close enough to illuminate the trunks of those that they sheltered behind.
"Pull back another five paces, cover behind those rocks- on my mark-"
There went another. A sprinkle of blasted dirt fell upon the Lieutenant.
"Go!"
The Corporal felt it almost as soon as he'd stepped out from his cover- the jarring thud of a bullet slamming against his left shoulder. He stumbled as the slug ricocheted off the armored skin, boots slipping against the root-tangled slope as he felt his form start to lurch off balance.
"I- I got one! I think I got one!"
"Great shot kid- come on, we've almost got 'em!"
"Royal 4 and 5, hold your position-"
His squad disappeared from view, slipping into cover behind the rocky outcrop the Captain had designated- the Corporal caught himself on the trunk of a nearby tree, then wordlessly followed in their wake as more tracers zipped by him.
He settled in a spot that had been conveniently left for him, between the Sergeant and Lieutenant and to the left of the outcrop; the cover, sturdier than trees it may have been, was barely wide enough to conceal all four of them. There was perhaps a second of respite that he was granted, a moment without the crackle of static or gunpowder.
The vibration of the bullet impacting his shoulder still seemed to race along the tensed fibres under the plating. It'd been a long time since he'd been shot; first time with lethal intent. Funny. It didn't feel that much different from rubber bullets.
"Two more coming ahead of the others," droned the Lieutenant.
The Sergeant didn't bother with acknowledging the target designation this time- a few impotent and wildly aimed shots flew past his armored form as he slipped out with his weapon levelled at his waist, the burst of fire he sent back at their pursuers as abrupt as ever.
He pivoted back into cover, the trailing screams following behind him in the place of more bullets the only confirmation the squad needed that two more of their pursuers had fallen.
"2, 14, 15, with me-we need to get around them- that platform over there-"
The relative stillness of the battleground now made it easy for him to locate what they were referring to. 'Platform' really might've been the best way to describe it, a cluster of uneven, but- relatively flat- rocks embedded in the dirt, elevated further up the slope and angled in to their side.
"To hell with that! There's four of us left goddamn it!"
"Royal 12 is on the way with reinforcements! We just need to hold them down- keep the pressure up, we almost have them cornered!"
"Lieutenant, what are those reinforcements?"
"I'm- working on it-" grunted the officer in response; the Corporal spared a glance over at his hunched form, making note of the wires tangled up in his fingers as he dug through the innards of his radio. A small trail of smoke was wisping out from the casing- of course. It had been shot earlier. 8 and 9.
"F-fuck that! You saw what happened to 4 and 5! We're f-f-fucking dead the moment we step out of cover!"
"That's why you keep your head down damn it!"
"What good does that do if there's no goddamn cover between us and those rocks!?"
"2, you- what? What is it? What the hell do you mean Militia-"
There was a surge of static- punctuated by a low grunt coming from the Lieutenant- and then a flood of new voices, more noise to try and filter out.
"-exactly what I said I mean dammit! Son of a bitch, my radiator's shitting out bullets- 3'o clock, Lancers goddamn it!"
"Royal 12, what is your location!?"
"At the truck! – Aquila, get them off of my ass!"
"Continue directly forwards, through the trees, we need immediate support!"
"They're not firing," mused the Sergeant. "Move in and finish them off?"
Precious seconds of mutual silence ticked by- no gunfire, no speech. The Corporal glanced over at the Captain, the officer's back pressed ramrod straight against the rock. More noise over the radio soon broke that silence.
"What do you mean, you need support? They're tearing us apart, get over here!"
"Royal 12-"
"Motherfucker, there are four of us left! We make a single move, and they rip us to shreds in seconds! So yes! We do need some fucking support!"
Somebody was outright crying. The Captain still said nothing.
The Corporal's fingers tensed- the throbbing in his shoulder numbing away, like noise.
"Royal 2! Your insubordination has reached utterly intolerable levels! Were we not in combat-"
"Fuck, fuck fuck! I didn't mean to do it, please, I swear-"
"There is no glory in this!"
"Get me out of here!"
"Mother-"
"Father-"
"Royal lead, hang tight! We're on our way!"
"Captain!" Barked the Lieutenant, his rising voice betraying just the slightest hint of- something; the same thing that practically permeated the radio channel. "What are your orders!?"
The Captain's gaze snapped over to the Corporal.
"Corporal, I want you up around that platform they want to take- not directly on it, find some sort of concealment, either way you need a better angle on them. We'll draw their attention with fire."
"That's a lot of killing for just one shooter," said the Sergeant.
"Even without the canister you couldn't get up there in time. And we're not getting out of here till they're all dead."
"It's a little late to still be playing cleanup in the middle of a battlefield," shot back the Sergeant, a certain edge beginning to work its way into his tone.
"Then we'd better finish this up while there's still only four witnesses, shouldn't we? Check your barrels- Corporal, don't make a move until the Sergeant opens fire."
"Yes sir." He was the only one who bothered to verbally confirm the Captain's orders this time.
"Gods… oh Gods, forgive us…"
"Fuck this! I surrender, goddamn it, I surrender!"
"Aquila 4! If you so much as drop your weapon I swear I'll shoot you mys-"
"Aaaagh!"
"Gallian bastards!"
"I can't see… I can't see!"
0-0-0
The light bent around the scope, eyes locking into place.
The roaring noise filtering through the radio dissipated into distorted nothingness, along with the trees at his periphery.
0-0-0
He could practically feel the seething breaths slipping out the top of Friedrich's faceplate and settling upon the nape of his neck- the two of them hunched over behind the same tree, neither daring to move from their precarious perch as though the slightest twitch of muscle would see them both torn apart in a hail of bullets rushing out from the unknown recesses of this hellhole forest.
Normally, having the heavyset sergeant that close would've made him far more than just mildly uncomfortable. The first time he'd laid eyes upon the burly man, not even in uniform and lounging his muscled arms over some heavy crate of miscellaneous equipment, an undisguised sneer creased over his bearded face-
As much as he hated to admit it, the man terrified him. Looked more like a… criminal, convict, conscript, any manner of unsightly character that belonged in a mine, or something some other, rather than the glorious Imperial Military. The thoughts had permeated his fears from day one of his assignment to Royal, images of the towering sergeant bodily tearing him apart in a rage, a childish fit – or tantrum of insubordination, or whatever such… borderline animals engaged in.
A feral snarl growled out of Friedrich, as a fusillade of bullets ripping, tearing, shearing, burlap frayed threads- whipping around the trees surrounding them. He shuddered.
Erich wailed out in despair just metres behind them, curled up in a ball behind a thick rooted trunk- Michaela knelt quietly by his side.
The tearing sound of bullets did not subside after mere seconds this time, as it always had before. Chills ran down the skin under the maroon plate of his armor as they peeled strips of bark off of their cover, his mind working in overdrive now with terror, seeing those bullets ripping and tearing and pulverizing and shredding and perforating
He squeezed his eyes shut. Friedrich had yet to move, and his heated breaths still warmed the exposed patch of skin on his neck. It felt like a damned wolf was at his back, eager to tear into him.
No, it wasn't Friedrich he saw tearing his corpse apart anymore. It seemed as though the Gallian beasts that prowled these lands were more monstrous than any animal the dregs of the Empire could shit out.
"Royal lead, I suggest you get ready, we're coming in goddamn hot-"
He winced at the sound of crackling gunfire and detonations that filtered in through Markus' transmission- the distant screams of Aquila squad as they were… ripped, torn, pulverized- um… shredded- by the bullets and shrapnel that swarmed around Royal 12's armored hull. He was glad he'd paid especially close attention at the academy to operating the radio; he'd long cut out Aquila's comm channel.
Not that it helped much. The dying shrieks of his own squad still echoed freshly in his ears.
"Royal lead?"
"C-copy," he breathed.
And then his head split apart.
0-0-0
He watched as Lieutenant Walther's helmeted head was suddenly obscured by a cloud of viscera- the domed helm breaking into fragments and joining the blossom of blood and gore that billowed out from the jagged hole punched through the back of his head.
The next pitch of the everlasting cry that was rippling out from his throat died abruptly on his tongue as he watched his squad leader hit the ground with a clanking smack.
"Friedrich! Get down!" Michaela shrieked from beside him, her warning not even directed to him. It was like he'd just ceased to exist the moment he'd lost it.
Even so, her usual stony composure was broken like the perforated bodies that laid behind them. The mere thought of… that- again- managed to stir his vocal chords from lasting paralysation in the wake of Walther's death.
The bullet that punctured his lung soon after didn't give him much of a chance to cry out.
He fell back into the soiled earth, helmet smacking against the dirt as sunlight breaking through the canopy flooded his glazing eyes. He was dying then…
Elisa… mother… I'm so sorry…
He tried to recall his sister's face, to… see her, one last time, in the flesh, before he joined her in death.
The only image he managed to will to mind was that of a helmet-
-little and grey, domed like a pawn's head.
0-0-0
She blinked.
The splitting crack that she heard had not, after all, been the sound of her skull breaking open- the bullet missed her by inches, slamming into the bark next to her.
Royal 12's voice filled her ears- panicky, bellowing, noise.
The next bullet that came for her wasn't so far off its mark.
0-0-0
One last shot, and the last of the four targets was slammed into the ground, a small red mist blossoming from their chestplate.
"Corporal-"
"All targets neutralized, Captain."
"Not anymore! Find cover, those goddamn reinforcements just arrived!"
Only then did his ears register the cacophony screeching off in the woods- he blinked, tearing his gaze away from the scope as it all rushed back in a torrential crashing of thundering explosions and splitting gunfire. And it was close.
"Corporal! Find somewhere to lay low, they're not going to last long with the Gallians hitting their flank but they're blanketing the place with grenades and shellfire!"
"Yes Captain," he grunted, picking himself out of the cluster of prickly foliage he'd immersed himself into with as much steadiness as he could muster with the earth quaking around his boots.
"Lancers, Lancers-!"
There was a surge, a rush of searing whooshes out in the trees- he could see it now, blazing azure streaks of the archaic lance warheads- impacting unseen targets in blossoming spheres of blue fire.
One careened wildly out from the trees and exploded in a flare of blinding light further to his left- close enough to light up the rocks forming the platform he was next to.
It didn't take him much longer to figure that those rocks wouldn't be adequate cover. So he ran, to where exactly, it was hard to tell. Away from the explosions of course, but that just led him farther and deeper into the woods, with nothing but fragile trees that would be blasted to pieces as cover.
"Oh Gods- TANK! TANK, RIGHT ON OUR FUCKING SIX, WHAT THE HELL-!"
He didn't see the detonation, but the crackling echo left in the wake of the stone shaking blast he heard certainly suggested that was no mere grenade or warhead.
"Royal 12 is down!"
"Corporal, status!"
"Green, sir."
"Have you found cover yet!?"
"Negative."
The intensity of the roiling quakes grew in magnitude, a mechanical rumbling now recognizable over the din of battle.
"Forget laying low, get the hell out of here! We're going to hole up here and take our chances, but if we can't regroup with you-"
Another blast. This time an even brighter flare of blue flashed on his periphery.
"-don't come looking for us!"
But the canister was still with them. The objective-
"Captain, what about the canister?"
"Forget the damn canister! It's no good to Command if we're all dead anyways!"
…
"Yes, Captain."
And then something slammed into his side, tackling him to the earth. He blinked.
0-0-0
He drove his knee into the bastard's chest, relishing in the vibrations that spiked along his flesh- it only meant the little fucker beneath him felt it even harder than he did. His legs burned with pain, shrapnel digging into the flesh, dirt clogging gaping wounds, bones aching from the murderous pursuit he'd embarked on the moment that the explosions had roused him from near death-
He didn't care what kind of armor the little shit was wearing, he'd been on the receiving end of enough melees to know that it couldn't protect your goddamn bones from being broken.
This little bitch-
He wrapped his scorched hands around the bastard's neck, heedless of the agonizing pain searing along his whole body, the gaping puncture in his chest- and squeezed. This was normally the point when most people would start wheezing, gasping for breath as their throat constricted, their mouths gaping wide in a futile attempt to stave off the suffocation.
The utter lack of anything he heard in response only further fueled his burning rage, the empty red eye pieces of that fucking mask gazing at him blankly. His fingers tightened, the burnt leather gloves digging into his raw and red flesh.
Fucking say something you BASTARD-
He hacked out a glob of blood, dry throat sucking in a breath- he pressed his ample bulk down on the black armored cunt harder, squeezed as much as his burnt and rent and shredded fingers would let him. He pressed the dented faceplate of his helmet right up against the little shit's mask, staring into those eyepieces-
-he wanted to rip them out. Rip it all away, see the being that had murdered the whole rest of his fucking squad, most of them still practically schoolkids with his own fucking eyes!
The quaking of the earth around him reached a crescendo now, and he could hear the shouts of the Gallian bastards behind him.
He was gonna die here- but he'd make damn sure he took one of these fucking snakes with him-
He gritted his teeth, a dry and cracking chuckle beginning to rise in his tattered throat as he felt hands grasping feebly around his belt- good. He wanted the bastard to squirm before they died.
He took the last few seconds of his life to search the mask for something, anything, an indication of life, of humanity, of the fear and despair he so wanted to tear out from the cold-shelled killer beneath his hands.
His bulging eyes eventually fell upon a peculiar pattern carved out in the surface, some strange little gap left in the various segments between the pieces that came together- tilted downwards from the middle, ridges along the inside making it look reminiscent of a toothy mouth- a grin. The fucking -thing- was smiling at him.
And then Friedrich's head exploded.
0-0-0
He sucked in a raspy breath as the metal and bone fragments sprinkled his mask, a thick splatter of almost jelly-like gore following suit. The hulking Imperial slumped down, lifelessly, on top of him, but he kept the barrel of the pistol he'd slipped off the man's waistband pressed against his stomach- just in case.
He'd never seen anyone survive having their head pulverized before, but then again- he hadn't seen anyone get up from a lung shot to pursue him through a forest and tackle him to the ground and nearly strangle him to death either.
That still left the question as to who fired that shot, of course. The only logical conclusion he came to was that it was another sniper; he couldn't imagine any other shooter in a mere militia unit being that pinpoint.
It also meant, that if they hadn't seen him before, if he made a move now- they'd see him for sure.
He spared a peek down at the scorched corpse draped over him, trying to gauge his chances at remaining undetected. He didn't spend much time on it; either way, he wouldn't be able to move to better cover, so he would have to make do.
The fires and explosions had died down now, but the woods were anything but silent. There was plenty of shouting still filtering through the trees, noticeably different in that they were completely untouched by the static filter of radio. It was utterly impossible to discern what they were saying.
"Captain?"
"Corporal? Where are you?"
"Pinned down. Gallian snipers, can't move."
"Shit. We're still stuck in our own cover, there's a full crop of infantry and a tank milling about on that hill, no way in hell we can get to you without springing them."
Their comm channel fell deathly silent for a few seconds, neither he nor the Captain having anything else to say. What about the Lieutenant and Sergeant?
"Are you wounded?" He queried. It felt strange to be the one asking questions for once.
"Negative."
"Status is green, Corporal."
"Yeah, I'm fine too, thanks for asking."
He allowed another breath to filter through his mask. Voices were growing louder, closer to him.
"Captain, I can't seem to find any sort of squad-wide communications channel on them-"
"Squad-level radio? For fuck's sake Lieutenant, look at 'em, some of them are still using trench rifles."
"I know," interrupted the Captain. "I don't need intel. Lieutenant, I want you to open a channel to their squad leader."
"You… want to talk to them?"
"You'd rather shoot and take your chances with running a charge up into that tank's radiator?"
More silence. He heard the voices grow closer, a discernable clamor- the different pitches they all carried, without some sort of filter to hammer some uniformity out of it, made it even noisier than the Imperials' panicking shouts.
"I can put you on an open channel in a 200 meter radius, it'll be quicker than just sifting through what I actually can find."
"Fine. Do it."
"Corporal, just lay low."
The Corporal laid low. Not that it was terribly difficult to do so anyhow.